


was it always there (but you never listened)

by thatiranianphantom (FrraFee)



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Don't want to be too spoilery, F/M, Marriage, Slow Burn, hamliza af, i dunno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-08-15 05:04:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 27,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8043607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrraFee/pseuds/thatiranianphantom
Summary: “Eliza, it’s the 21st century. Is there even such a thing as ten phone free moments? Besides, when we millenials find ourselves in times of trouble, what do we do?”Eliza's on the verge of being kicked out of school, and desperate times call for desperate measures.





	1. telephone wire

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: What the fuck am I doing?! I know I suck at finishing multichapter fics. I know I suck at dialogue. Why am I doing this? I guess I needed a hobby since I finished HMTIS. Ridin’ high off the finished-a-fic. 
> 
> Okay, I’m aware this story is a common trope, and I’m asking for suspension of disbelief on some of the details here, but I’m excited to write this! Shouldn’t be as long as HMTIS either. 
> 
> Also, this time I get to make Eliza a teacher, which is exciting for your humble teacher/author. Best job ever. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy reading! 
> 
> Also, I love John Laurens.

**I got every scholarship,**

**Saved every dollar,**

**The first to go to college,**

**How do I tell them why**

**I'm coming back home,**

**With my eyes on the horizon**

 

It all started with a phone call.

 

Well, that’s not quite true.

 

Technically speaking, it started much earlier.

 

It started with a single dad and three daughters. Three daughters that were told from the very beginning that they had to pay their own way through college. And by from the very beginning, she means from infancy.

 

Philip Schuyler was actually rumored to have leaned over the cribs of his infant daughters, one after the other, and told them to get a job and start saving, because he didn’t have the money for that higher education shit.

 

Which was really shitty for Eliza, because she was neither the firstborn, nor the baby. Stuck in the middle, with neither the cute factor nor the drive and independence of the oldest, Eliza was shit out of luck from the beginning.

 

Don’t mistake, she loved her sisters. They were her best friends, her constant companions.

 

Yes, she loved her sisters.

 

But she wasn’t as brilliant as Angelica. She could never match her big sister’s mind, and had always known that.

 

And she would never have Peggy’s bouncy, optimistic energy.

 

No, she was just Eliza. Unremarkable at best.

 

But unremarkable Eliza still wanted to go to college. Looking at her father’s life was a sobering portrait of what life would be without “that higher education shit”. Often drunk, gambling compulsively, loving but struggling and often absent.

 

No, Eliza had never wanted that.

 

So she started babysitting in middle school. And really, that was good for two reasons: one, money, about the only money a twelve year old can earn. And two, it let her know what she wanted to do: be a teacher.

 

She remembered the exact moment she realized her future career. One of her young charges had come home crying, uncharacteristically quiet and withdrawn.

 

He had stayed silent for an hour, pouting and sullen, until Eliza had finally had enough. She had plopped the boy down in a chair and told him that he had five minutes allocated for his self-pity, and then he would stop wallowing and tell her what was wrong.

 

She had set a timer.

 

At the end, she had crouched by the boy’s feet, and gently asked again.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

And the dam broke.

 

Through the haze of tears, he had stuttered out that his teacher had called him a hopeless cause, and told him that subtraction was simply “beyond his capabilities”.

 

Eliza still remembered the wave of fury that had washed over her at this cold woman’s dismissal of the child.

 

More so, still, when the boy had stutteringly told her that the teacher was right. He was hopeless. And coming from an eight-year-old boy, that shattered something Eliza.

 

She gave the boy’s knees a pat, and then disappeared into the playroom he shared with his sister, returning with a chalkboard and a container of play dough.

 

She remembered the boy’s confused expression as she had scrawled “4-1” on the board, then set up 4 balls of play dough.

 

“Four balls of play dough. Minus one,” she had said. “Smash that one.”

 

He had.

 

And his expression had shifted.

 

“Three!” he had cried out. “The answer is three!”

 

Then, a smile started to form on his face. He had balled up the rest of the play dough and handed it back to her.

 

“Do it again.” He had instructed.

 

She had. “7-2” on the board. Seven balls. “Smash two”. “Five!”

 

The boy’s face had lit and then Eliza _knew._

 

A teacher.

 

That degree.

 

That was all she wanted.

 

That was worth every sacrifice she had to make.

 

Sometimes when her mind would drift, Eliza would imagine her future classroom, the children that would bustle in and out, how she could change their lives.

 

Yes, that would make this all worth it.

 

But for a position that makes such a shitty salary, teacher’s college was expensive. So as soon as she turned 14, Eliza took any and all jobs that she could get.

 

By the time she left for college, she had a good amount saved, figuring if she worked during the year she could save the rest.

 

Which brings us back to the phone call.

 

Her father’s voice was scratchy and raw, but that wasn’t her first clue into bad news.

 

No, that would have been the prerecorded message that plays telling her she had an incoming call from Rikers Island and did she accept the charge?

 

He was just going to take a few dollars, her father insisted. He knew how hard she had worked. But then he got in too deep and if he spent just a little more, he could get out of it.

 

But he didn’t.

 

And now everything is gone.

 

Now she has nothing.

 

Everything she spent her teenage years working toward, gone.

 

Eliza, please understand, she hears him plead. Couldn’t she just come up with something to help him get out of here? He’ll figure it out, he promises. He’ll get the money back. He’ll be more, he’ll be better, but can she just him out?

 

She slams the phone down and refuses the tears.

 

No, she won’t cry.

 

 

Her sisters hug her tightly. They curse her father, they smooth her hair back and whisper platitudes that she knows are false but she appreciates nonetheless.

 

But she won’t cry.

 

She knows her sisters have no money to give her. Angelica lives with her boyfriend (Eliza supposes he’s her boyfriend, Angie’s always seemed ambivalent toward him). He’s rich but Angelica lives with him because she can’t afford her own rent, and Peggy has moved in with her girlfriend for the same reason. They all used to collect coins in the couches of the coffeehouses their friends frequent and split them three ways.

 

No, they can’t help her.

 

Nobody can help her; especially with rent due in three weeks and next semester’s tuition creeping close.

 

 

She’ll maintain she doesn’t cry when she receives the notice in the mail, along with her bank statement, detailing her current balance (overdraft -200).

 

She does, though.

 

Which, then, brings her to her best friend.

 

John Laurens has always had a bit of a soothing presence about him. Just being around him has always made her feel better.

 

She needs a supersized dose of that today.

 

He hugs her without saying a word, and she buries her face in his coat and that time, she’ll fully admit she cries.

 

He settles her down on the couch, buys her a cup of coffee amid her protests, draws her into him and strokes her hair soothingly.

 

Not for the first time, she thinks she doesn’t deserve John Laurens.

 

“This is all I ever wanted, John,” she sniffles. “Just…. go to school. Graduate. Be a teacher. Don’t be my father.”

 

She shrugs her shoulders violently, jostling his arm.

 

“Shoulda known, though. Shoulda known he’d find a way to ruin that.”

 

“We’ll figure this out, ‘Liza,” John promises.

 

She scoffs. “How, John? Rent is due in three weeks. Tuition in two months. I’m not just going to magically come into thousands of dollars.”

 

She sniffles “Fuck New York City and the fucking rent.”

 

John smiles softly. “Legal robbery, I’ve always said.”

 

That coaxes a small chuckle out of her.

 

“Doubt they’d take it well if I just up and decided not to pay though.”

 

“Probably not.”

  
“Could I still attend from a shelter?”

 

John shakes his head. “Eliza, we’re not there yet.”

 

“We’re pretty damn close, John. You don’t even have a couch in your dorm, and the advisors would never let me stay with you. Where the fuck am I going to go? What am I going to do?”

 

John is silent for a long moment, until his body shifts silently to pull his phone out of his pocket.

 

“John, crisis here,” Eliza reminds him. “I think it merits ten phone-free moments here.”

 

He grins down at her, pushing his curly hair out of his freckled face.

 

“Eliza, it’s the 21st century. Is there even such a thing as ten phone free moments? Besides, when we millenials find ourselves in times of trouble, what do we do?”

 

“Dunno. Something about Mother Mary?”

 

“Ask professor Google, Eliza. Internet. Step into the world of today.”

 

She gave a short laugh and fished her phone out of her pocket. “Not a bad idea.”

 

For the next few hours, they drink massive amounts of coffee, surf the Internet and grow ever more desperate.

 

Two hours later, they are drawing blanks. Eliza collapses dramatically against John, posture screaming defeat.

 

“It’s hopeless,” she groans. “I’m googling nearest shelters.”

 

“No!” John jumps up. “’Liza, I’ve got it!”

 

She bolts upright.

 

“You have a solution?”

 

“I mean, I think so. But it’s kinda…”John scratches the back of his neck nervously. “It may be kinda crazy. But it may also work.”

 

“Well, don’t keep me in suspense, Laurens! Just tell me.”

 

He thrusts his phone in her face. She squints and finds herself on NYU’s financial aid and bursary page.

 

“John,” she groans. “We already know I’m too late to apply for financial aid and I don’t qualify for any bursaries or grants. How does that help?"

 

“Eliza, look at the highlighted part.”

 

She does.

 

“To be eligible for family and partner housing at the Law School, the applicant for such status must demonstrate that the individual(s) with whom the applicant/licensee is applying share a qualifying family relationship. Qualifying family relationships under this policy are those relationships that evidence a significant emotional commitment on the part of the members of the relationship.”

Her confusion must be evident on her face, but John’s is the picture of excitement.

“Wha..”

“Eliza, don’t you get it? NYU has married housing. There are tons of bursaries for couples available.”

“Yeah, that’s totally perfect! Just one teeny tiny problem: John, I’m not in a couple! And I’m certainly not married. How does this apply?”

“Don’t you see? All we need to do is get you a husband.”

Eliza gives a disbelieving scoff “A husband? Isn’t that very seventeenth century? Just expect a man to pay for me?”

“He doesn’t even have to pay for hardly anything! If you’re married, you’re eligible for all these bursaries, plus married housing. If we found someone, it’s just a piece of paper and you’re basically roommates. Then at the end of school, you quietly divorce, no big deal.”

“And it would be that simple?”  
  
“Absolutely! All our problems, solved by one piece of paper!”

“Laurens,” she says, wrapping her arms around his neck. “That’s absolutely insane.”

He deflates. “It was just an idea.”

She shakes her head, presses a kiss to his cheek. “You didn’t let me finish. It’s a crazy idea, but…it may be crazy enough to work.”

His freckled face lights with a smile, as he presses a kiss to her forehead as well.

 

“But we have one huge problem: who the fuck would agree to this?”

 

His smile grows. “I think I know someone.”

 

 

**I could be a painter**

**Or in the hall of fame**

**I can almost hear the calling of my name**

**But when people look at me**

**That's not what they see**

**If the world only knew what I could do**

**They would be astounded**

**If the world only knew what I could do**

**I would be surrounded**

 


	2. all i ask for

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we meet one Alexander Hamilton, and it goes about as well as you'd expect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: so this took an eternity. Sorry ‘bout that. I gotta start planning this story better. Real talk though; I love this incarnation of Alex. He’s such an asshole. I love writing it. 
> 
> Also I may write a fic for The 100. WHY IS THIS MY LIFE WHY ARE THESE MY CHOICES.

**The one who depends on the services she renders**   
**To those who come knocking**   
**She's seeing too clearly what she can't be**   
**What understanding defies**

 

 

As it turns out, John knows several someones.  
  
Eliza never understood exactly how, since John was not wealthy himself and wasn’t really the type to concern himself with money nor the group of students at NYU who seemed to be perpetually flaunting their wealth.

 

But apparently, he had connections.

 

Which is how Eliza found herself at one of her least favorite places. The Grange was a popular bar near campus, crowded with students at all hours.

 

Angelica loved it, Peggy begged to go with her despite not being of legal age, but Eliza hated everything about the cheap beer, pounding music and endless cluster of people with whom she never felt she fit.

 

John dragged her by the hand, towards the dimly lit bar, and Eliza forced her feet into motion, dreading every second.

 

How was she even supposed to do this? How was she supposed to go up to someone she didn’t even know and invite them to a quickie, convenience marriage? John had assured her that these people would say yes, but as someone who found it awkward to even ask someone out, she couldn’t imagine how she’d go about doing this.

 

Once inside, she tries her best to block out the flurry of activity around her. Crowds had never been her thing, which was another thing she and John had in common.

 

They head over to a corner of the bar, where a group of men in Marc Jacobs clothes are pounding back beers while hunched over the bar.

 

Every instinct inside of Eliza is screaming that this is a terrible idea, but she pushes herself forward anyway.

 

_Graduate. You’ve just gotta graduate. This is your only shot._

 

John introduces her with a flourish, to Hercules Mulligan. Towering and intimidating looking, but with kind brown eyes, he greets her with an immediate hug and she instantly likes him.

 

Next is Lafayette, a tall Frenchmen with wild, curly black hair, who insists she “call him Laf, bella,”, to which Mulligan chortles and slaps him on the back.

 

“Wrong language, asshole!”

 

And lastly, to Alexander Hamilton, who doesn’t so much as look at her. He’s bent over a wrinkled piece of paper, scribbling furiously.

 

John pats him on the back and makes an introduction, and ignoring her is upgraded to a hand wave in her general direction.

 

Finally, John waits for a break when his pen is not touching the paper, and snatches it out from underneath.

 

 _That_ gets a reaction. Hamilton jumps up with an indignant “hey!” (and some other words).

 

John takes no notice, however.

 

“Elizabeth Schuyler, Alexander Hamilton. He’s not quite versed in human traditions, so…”

 

John moves behind Hamilton and extends the young man’s hand towards Eliza.

 

She dislikes this man upon first sight, but reminds herself, _you need this. You need this degree. This is going to fix everything._

She takes his warm, sweaty hand, holding for a perfunctionary period before pulling back.

 

Alexander Hamilton is wiry and slight, with olive skin and dark hair pulled back into a ponytail at the nape of his neck. His eyes carry dark bags under them, indicating many sleepless nights.

 

“Alex, Eliza here has a deal for you.”

 

“Not interested. Now give me my paper back and let me get back to work.”

 

She steals a glance at the paper and finds it titled “Sexism and Racism in 2015: Why We Are Worse Off Than Ever.”

 

“You’re a social work student,” she guesses.

 

He gives a derisive snort. “Law.”

 

Mulligan lays a hand on his shoulder. “Alex, new person. Try to at least act like a human around them.”

 

“Whatever she’s selling, I’m not interested. I am, however, interested in getting back to my paper.”

 

John holds it out of his reach and for about the millionth time, she is eternally grateful for what a good friend he is.

 

“Hear her out or that paper is going to meet the same fate as your last abrasive one to congress.”

 

“Feeding it to that stray was a dick move, Laurens.”

 

“You called President Adams a useless insect that you hoped to see crushed under a boulder, Alex!”

 

“I was being kind. He deserves far worse. Now give it!”

 

 

Sweeping towards them, another man leans down to Alexander’s side, a man who also sported wild hair like Lafayette, but whose face held none of the kindness of the other man.

 

“My humble upbringing in the Hamptons taught me to care about the little people,” he sings mockingly.

 

Alexander’s fists clench.

 

“Shut up, Jefferson,” he growls.

 

“Soooo sympathetic,” the man drawls. “Thank _goodness_ for our savior Hamilton.”

 

Every muscle in Alex’s body tenses, and John takes this opportunity to whisper in his ear.

 

“Say yes to this, or I’ll give that picture of you at the Renaissance fair to Jefferson.”

 

Alex’s face pales. “You wouldn’t.”

 

“I would. And the ones we took after you passed out drunk.”

 

“You drew on my face! How is that my fault?”

 

“Hazing, Hamilton. Happens to everyone. Now listen to the girl. Who knows, you may even make a real friend.”

 

With a great sigh (like it’s _such_ a hardship for this asshole to hear her out for five minutes), Alex turns to Eliza.

 

“I’m listening. You have three minutes. Or really, eighty-five seconds left. “

 

 _This better fucking work_ , Eliza groans internally as she gathers all her courage.

 

“Short version, I need a husband.”

 

Alex nearly chokes on his drink. “What?!”

 

The words (she hadn’t planned on this many words when she’d rehearsed this at home) tumble out of her before she can stop them.

 

“My dad spent all my money, I’m broke and I’m about to be kicked out, but if I got married, I would be eligible for bursaries and get to move into married housing.”

 

Alex shakes his head in disbelief. His friends don’t look much better, but they are incrementally leaning in, like twelve year olds at a school dance overhearing a breakup.

 

“And you want…you want me to _marry_ you?”

 

“Just on paper,” she stresses. “I just need to legally prove I have a husband, then I can finish school. Look, I know it’s crazy, and I know I’m asking a lot of a stranger, but I’m kinda desperate here and I…I really need your help.”

 

Jefferson swoops by again, his face radiating with smug delight.

 

“My dear, there’s always the fine art of – “

 

“Shut up, Jefferson,” she spits without looking at him.

 

“You don’t even have to live with me. Just make it look like we’re happily married every once in awhile. Then when I graduate, we have a quickie divorce.”

 

Alex is silent for a long time.

 

“Please,” she begs, the word tasting rotten in her mouth.

 

_You need this you need this you need this._

Finally, he sits back and heaves a sigh.

 

“I’d need an agreement specifying the day we file for divorce.”

 

Eliza is stunned. “Wha..what?”

 

“I don’t want there to be anything you can hold over my head. I need a legal agreement stating you agree to divorce me on the day you graduate.”

 

“I…okay.”

 

“I’ll have it drawn up. Meet me at the courthouse on Monday. Papers should be processed by Friday.”

 

And just like that, it’s done.

 

\--------

 

“What the fuck is his problem?” she asks John as they walk home, her stomach still twisted in knots.

 

She’s still unable to believe that this actually worked.

 

Alex left soon after their arrangement was reached, much to her relief, but the others had insisted she stick around as they got increasingly drunk and, at one point, created a board and began planning a wedding for Eliza and Alex.

 

(They’d titled it “Alex+Eliza 4Eva #wuvtwuewuv”, so Eliza’s fairly certain they won’t remember this tomorrow, and regrets that she’ll miss the look on their faces when they discover that board again).

 

John shrugs. “He’s really not so bad once you get to know him.”

 

She snorts. “Yes, I’m sure that magnetic personality attracts people near and far to him. Girls must be falling all over themselves to get close.”

 

“Oh no, he does fine in the romance department. I mean, he gets plenty. But they’re always gone the next morning.”

 

“That’s odd,” she muses.

 

John gives her an odd look.

 

“It’s odd for a 25 year old college kid obsessed with his work to only want one night stands? We gotta get you out more, Eliza. Anyway, we just need him to actually do this. He’s your ticket out. Which means, even if he’s an asshole, you gotta suck it up if you want that degree.”

 

She groans. “What have I gotten myself into?”

 

John nudges her shoulder with a smile. “I don’t think any of us could imagine. Now come on, we have china patterns to pick out.”

 

\--------

 

They meet the next day at a local coffee shop, titled “My Shot” to discuss legal arrangements. Alex isn’t any friendlier without his friends around him, but maybe that’ll be easier. She is already going into this knowing there are no feelings involved. It’s more of a business arrangement then anything else. Hell, they don’t even have to be friends.

 

 _Most married couples aren’t,_ she can hear Angelica snark in her head.

 

“That’s it, then. Tomorrow we go down to the courthouse and make it official.”

 

“That will mean you will have to be in the same room with me for an extended period of time. Sure you can handle that?”

  
“Barely,” he doesn’t even look at her.

 

She’s known this man for less than 48 hours, and is already increasingly bothered by him. Clearly the feeling is mutual, and that makes the curiosity inside her grow. And perhaps makes her a little tactless and foolish, because she can’t stop herself from asking.

 

“Why are you doing this?”

  
“What?”

 

“Why did you agree to this? What’s in it for you, if you hate me so much?”

 

“You probably shouldn’t complain,” he bites off. “Since this is getting you out of some deep shit too.”

 

“Probably not. But call it curiosity,” she pushes back. “You don’t need the money, you see me as a distraction, you aren’t keen to move into any type of housing that might distract you from your precious writings. So why are you saying yes?”

 

He pauses, and for awhile it seems like he’s not going to answer. When he does, he doesn’t look at her, but she can feel the set of his jawline, the coiling tension in his posture.

 

“Because it’ll piss my folks off.” He finally relents.

 

“Why do you hate them that much?”

 

“None of your damn business.”

 

She clicks her tongue. “No way to talk to your fiancée.”

 

“That’s all you’re getting, Schuyler.”

 

She doesn’t press after that. The discussion tapers off after a few minutes, and they part ways.

 

(However, she can’t resist a parting shot, and so she sings “see you Friday, hubby!” over her shoulder.)

 

She asks John about Alex and his parents later, and he shrugs.

 

“Bad childhood? None of us know, Eliza. He just hates them. That’s why I knew he’d jump at the opportunity to piss them off.”

 

“He hasn’t told you anything about them?”

 

“Just that he hates them. That’s all anyone’s heard. And you don’t know Hamilton…when he doesn’t want to talk about it, you can consider it dropped for good. Don’t hold out much hope of uncovering long lost family secrets.”

 

 

She waves a hand dismissively. “Just curious. We’ll be divorced too quick for that to matter.”

 

John bids her goodnight a few hours later, and she crawls into bed with a sigh.

 

Best to sleep now, she figures. Friday, she gets married.

 

**The urge to run, the restlessness**

**The heart of stone I sometimes I get**

**The things I’ve done for foolish pride**

**The me that’s never satisfied**


	3. some days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a wedding, a party, a fight and a move. 
> 
> (and your humble author apologizes for the ridiculous wait).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I swear to god I didn’t abandon this! My job just got busier and I was out for the last week on professional development (awesome! wow!) and then I fell hard into The 100 and it was like having a newborn. I am addicted to Clexa and I can’t get up. So this took forever, but I do plan on finishing it! I planned it all out on my PD course, now just gotta get to the trouble of actually writing it. So all of this was basically a long way to say sorry for the wait, I am working on this, I swear.

**_There’s nothing that I want from you_ **

**_Not a word you have to say_ **

 

It would not be a stretch to call the “wedding” awkward.

 

Eliza supposes she should have expected nothing less; she’s marrying a guy she met a grand total of twice and already violently dislikes, for money. They are already planning their divorce. This is a marriage of convenience, so it’s not a stretch to say it’s awkward.

 

Alex wears a pressed shirt and jeans, his hair combed back into a ponytail that could be described as approaching neat. Eliza wears one of the cleanest dresses she can scrounge out of her closet, and they both pretend for the sake of the court clerk that they are doing this for more than just money.

 

They need witnesses, so Alex reluctantly asks Laf, Laurens and Herc to witness. Eliza isn’t quite ready to tell her sisters yet, and the boys had more than volunteered (begged is probably a more appropriate word). They stand beside Eliza and Alex, Laf flung dramatically over Herc and silently fake sobbing into a handkerchief, amidst the glares of the court staff.

 

They join hands. Alex grips as loosely as he can, as if her hand may actually be poisonous, and she forces herself not to notice.

 

They say their vows robotically, Alex keeping one eye one the clock.

 

Asshole, Eliza thinks.

 

They are asked to kiss towards the end. In the interest of keeping up the façade, they lean in. As do the boys, like twelve year olds, excitement shooting from them. Alex keeps his lips on hers for all of four seconds before shooting away, Eliza not far behind.

 

It probably takes less than ten minutes, and then Eliza is a married woman (on paper).

 

* * *

 

 

The boys throw them a party afterward. Neither of them wants a party. It doesn’t seem to matter. As Hercules puts it “we put in for decorations. This is happening.”

 

It’s at the same bar they met at. Eliza supposes they were going for some kind of symmetry. The boys (she’s come to refer to them as the Hamilsquad) have put in, indeed, but for the gaudiest, pinkest, most hideous decorations she has seen in all her life. They don’t seem to notice. They are whipping around the bar, photographing everything (for the scrapbook, they say).

 

And at the party, a miracle happens.

 

Alex sits in her general vicinity of his own free will.

 

She shoots him a shocked look, but he swirls a finger in his beer, pretends not to notice.

 

After several uncomfortable minutes, Eliza speaks.

 

“Moving day tomorrow,” she keeps her tone neutral.

 

“Don’t get any expectations,” he grunts. “The place they're putting us in has two bedrooms. We can each have one.”

 

 _And we’re back_ , Eliza thinks.

 

“Oh, heaven forbid some of your things touch mine,” she affects a southern drawl. “Perish the thought.”

  
Alex almost smirks. “No things touching other things, Schuyler.”

 

“Eliza.”

 

“What?”

 

“I have a first name, you know. Eliza.”

 

Alex shakes his head. “First names are awfully personal.”

 

“Right, don’t use my first name lest it make you fall irrevocably in love with me.”

 

He swigs the rest of his drink back, the slight smirk still there. “Can’t be too careful.”

 

“Fine, _Hamilton._ You win.”

 

He gives her a look that’s almost a smile. Eliza feels an answering one on her lips. If he wanted to trade barbs for their entire marriage, that worked for her. It was far more comfortable than the long silences and awkward touches.

 

The moment lasts exactly that, one minute, before a familiar looking head of dark curls sweeps in front of them.

 

“Oh, _congratulations_ to the happy couple,” Jefferson grins.

 

Alex tenses immediately, turning his gaze to his friends.

 

“Who invited this asshole?”

 

Laf, Laurens and Herc all shake their heads in unison.

 

“Oh, _Hamilton_ ,” Jefferson grins. “You may have booked this space, but this is still a public bar. People do drop by such things for events other than slanderous papers, you know.”

 

“Maybe, but you dropping by just to be social? To what do we owe the displeasure?” Hamilton shoots back.

 

The other man smiles. “Just congratulations as I said, Alexander. It’s not every day a person like you finds a woman wiling to tolerate him.”

 

“You haven’t managed it yet, I see. Being an absolute shithead tends to turn them away, I’ve found.”

 

Jefferson’s smile slips a bit. “Careful, Hamilton. Don’t want to be seen as anything less than a gentlemen in her eyes before she actually knows anything about you.”

 

“You know nothing about me, Jefferson.”

 

Jefferson clucks his tongue in a condescending tone.

 

“Alex. We practically grew up together. I think I know you better than some. Especially – “ He pokes a finger at Eliza. “ – this one.”

 

He turns to Eliza, fixing dark eyes on her.

 

“Darling,” Jefferson’s grin becomes even more predatory. “There are so _many_ things you are going to find out.”

 

Alex’s grip on his glass is so tight, his knuckles are white. “Shut the hell up, Jefferson.”

 

“I’m willing to bet he hasn’t told you anything. That he’s just a humble, hardworking law student. The voice of the people.”

 

“I said, shut up!”

 

Jefferson’s friend Madison pulls on his friend’s shirt. “Dude, I think it’s time to go.”

 

“But honey, there are so many things our dear Alexander hasn’t told you yet. Has he given you his humble upbringing story yet? I’d venture no. What about how he got into school? No, I don’t suppose you know that either. Oh, and then..”

 

Jefferson twirls around, hanging mockingly in Alex’s line of vision.

 

“We _can’t_ forget the most important thing.”

 

“If you don’t shut your fucking mouth and walk away now, Jefferson, I’m gonna…”

 

“We can’t forget about what happened to…”

 

And that is as far as he gets before Alex’s fist slams into his face, trembling with fury.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“You did _what_?” Angelica’s voice screeches,

 

Eliza flinches. She should have expected this reaction, her older sister was fiercely protective of both Eliza and Peggy, and getting married was kind of a big deal that she’d kept from both of her sisters (even a temporary marriage).

 

She’d held off on calling them until after the disaster of their wedding reception, of sorts. It had ended soon after the fight. Madison had dragged Jefferson out, and Alex had stalked outside.

 

For a brief moment, she had moved to follow him, but had caught herself.

 

Since then, she’d only heard from him via one text message, confirming the address they would be moving into.

 

Eliza didn’t think it wise to push him, and after all, this was none of her business.

 

But her angry sister?

 

That was hers to deal with.

 

“Ange, calm down, it’s not a big deal…”

 

“You got freaking _married_ , ‘Liza, and you didn’t even bother telling us? Not even a text? That’s what we’re here for, you know. To talk you out of terrible life-altering decisions like this.”

 

Eliza lets out a short bark of laughter. “Wouldn’t have helped, Ange.”

 

“But it’s my duty as your older sister to try. Now, there’s a story behind this, and I will hear it. And it better not start with ‘I was so drunk’ or ‘we were so hammered’ or ‘so Vegas is actually so romantic’.”

 

“Romance is definitely not a factor, sis. Remember the problem I was having with Dad? Well…John kind of knew someone who could solve it.”

 

“Laurens,” Angelica growls. “Good. I have the first name on the hit list.”

 

“Ange,” Eliza groans. “Focus here. This is temporary, I swear.”

 

“’Liza, are we sure we’re talking about the same governmental institution? Because as I understand it, there’s something about until death do us part in the things you have to say to get married.”

 

“Divorces exist for a reason,” Eliza counters. “Alex is rich, and he’s got parents he wants to piss off. And if I’m married, I’m eligible to live in married housing. Just until we graduate, believe me. We got a prenup, and he’s such an asshole that I will be honoring that divorce clause the second we graduate. It’s a perfect solution, Ange, trust me.”

 

She’s sure she can actually _hear_ Angelica’s disapproving look through the phone, but blessedly, her sister doesn’t question her further. She even promises to tell Peggy for her (“ _just the facts_ ” Eliza stresses).

 

“So, when do I get to meet my new brother-in-law?” her sister’s teasing voice singsongs through the line.

 

* * *

 

 

Married housing is worth the courthouse wedding at first glance.

 

Eliza hadn’t grown up wealthy, so essentially her entire childhood had been spent sharing a room with her sisters.

 

Lest that sound like complaining, she still looked at those days as cherished memories. She and her sisters were closer than any siblings she knew, and she was forever grateful for that.

 

Still, the apartment she plops her meager number of boxes down into is grandiose by comparison. Alex was fortunately right, there are indeed two bedrooms, but only one bathroom.

 

The master bedroom is easily twice the size of her old bedroom, but she almost forgets that this is still a college dorm when she finds the closet rather lacking. There is a simple wooden bed and mattress set up in the center, a vanity by the door, and a dresser close to the bed. It’s perfect, for now.

 

John helps her unpack. They order takeout, her best friend happily typing her new address into the online order form. Afterwards, Eliza and John lounge on her bare bed, sharing a beer, grinning at each other.

 

When he leaves, she presses him into a hug and breathes another “thank you” into his ear.

 

She almost wishes he were still here when she notes how quiet the apartment is, save for the neighbors. Alex had moved his things in earlier, but he was now nowhere to be seen. She creeps down the hallway and peeks into his room.

 

It’s even barer than hers. He doesn’t even have a bedframe, just a mattress on the floor, with a pillow and old blanket. The boxes of (presumably) clothing are untouched, as are the rest of the boxes, but his desk is already stuffed with papers on every surface. Textbooks pile on the papers, and notebooks take up an entire corner.

 

It certainly jives with what Eliza knows about Alex, but it seems cold and lonely in there. A flash of something that feels almost like sympathy shoots through her, even with his attitude toward her.

 

She closes the door silently and creeps back to her room.

 

**_Take a silent breath_ **

**_Hold in the change._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry if it’s not terribly entertaining, but lack of angst! Very un-Sadie! And also, as a teacher, doing my student’s grades while writing fanfiction is totally normal, right?


	4. reminder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She leaves a note for Alex once, on a Post-It on his door “Don’t you dare write on the walls or we’re never getting that security deposit back”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we have chapter 4! 
> 
> Actual thought I had when writing about takeout containers: I want KFC. I gotta have KFC now. 
> 
> Oh also, when I was student teaching I had to call and contact my associate teacher AND LET ME TELL YOU RIGHT NOW I AM STILL INTIMIDATED THINKING ABOUT IT SCARIEST THING EVER.

**_I’ve been burning bright_ **

**_For so long, I can’t remember_ **

 

As it turns out, that mattress never gets upgraded into a bed. Eliza checks on it periodically, and it’s still just a mattress with an old blanket and pillow on the floor. It barely even looks used. The desk, however, that is used plenty. And the dresser, and the wall, and any surfaces that look like they may be used for writing.

 

All of this information is gleaned stealthily however. She is never given permission, verbal or otherwise, to look into Alex’s room. And more often than not, he’s there, she can hear the click of his keyboard or the furious scribbles.

 

(She leaves a note for Alex once, on a Post-It on his door “ _Don’t you dare write on the walls or we’re never getting that security deposit back”)._

She sees his friends every once in awhile, and occasionally tries to wheedle information out of them. They don’t seem at all surprised that Alex barely leaves his room, and pretty much tell her there is nothing she can do to make him less reclusive, and frankly, creepy.

 

“Alex is all about work, love,” Lafayette tells her. “He averages ten papers per month. There’s a reason most of our senators know him by name, and it’s not because they like him. Once upon a time, he may have gotten an internship, but Alex is unable to shut his mouth when he sees someone doing something he doesn’t like.”

 

Eliza scoffs. “People doing bad things is a pretty wide field, Laf. He can’t possibly think he’s going around righting all the wrongs in the world.”

 

Herc shakes his head. “Only the important things. Money laundering, political stance, things like that. Alex takes it as his personal mission to take down dirty people in positions of power.”

 

“And university professors,” Laurens puts in. “One time a prof gave him a 73% on some assignment, this random shit that was worth like 2% of our grade, and Alex wrote an expose on how he wasn’t paying attention to the sheer _brilliance_ of his paper because he was sleeping with student. He got screenshots, sent it to the dean. Got the professor fired, but his grade was changed, that was all he cared about.”

 

Eliza shakes her head. “Of all the people you could have married me to, John, you had to choose the most self-involved asshole whose ever walked the planet?”

 

John grins. “Saved your ass from the street, Eliza. Never forget it.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

They’d been in their new house for eight weeks or so, and Eliza only glanced into Alex’s room once every two weeks (making sure to clamp her hand down on her nose before entering).

 

And aside from the papers, she starts to see takeout containers piling up in what seems to be their designated corner. The pile gets higher by the day, along with how much darker the bags under his eyes seem.

 

He ventures out of the cave of his bedroom sometimes, and when they do see each other, he shoots her a glare or flat out ignores her.

 

It irritates her beyond measure, but if that’s how he wants to play it, fine. She can work with that.

 

So she starts exaggeratedly hugging him when she does see him, singsonging “Hey, hubby!” and making him squirm fiercely in her arms.

 

He comes out even less, then, but this has become a bit of an amusement to her, so she seeks it out.

 

“Cut it, Schuyler,” he snaps.

 

She pouts, her lower lip trembling. “Can’t a girl show her husband some affection?”

 

Alex stalks back into his room with his head shaking, mumbling something about how if he knew it was going to be this difficult, he’d never have agreed to save her ass.

 

“I heard that!” she snaps at him.

 

His head pokes out from his doorframe and he glares at her.

 

“I said it loudly!”

 

 

* * *

 

 

They share a bathroom, so they _do_ interact sometimes.

 

Alex never bothers to shave and seems to barely shower

 

She buys him a cheap razor once, and affixes another post it to it.

 

( _“Showers and shaving are our friends. Humans engage in this practice. Google it.)_

It earns her a particularly fierce glare, but he’s clean-shaven the next time she sees him, and looks, she begrudgingly admits, really almost handsome.

 

(“Quit lusting, Schuyler,” he barks at her. “Never gonna happen.” He ducks into his room as she throws a loufa at him.)

 

 

* * *

 

 

It’s really not a big deal.

 

Seriously, Eliza knows how to cook like three things. It was just some pasta and bread. She had extra. She barely registers putting some on a plate and leaving it inside Alex’s door. He didn’t even look up, didn’t seem to realize she was there (not that she really wanted him to). But she finds the plate empty in his room the next day. Really, not just empty. Like every scrap had been eaten.

 

And he _does_ look slightly better the next day, but he still refuses to go to bed on time. So she finds a solution for that too, without letting herself answer the internal question _why do you care_?

 

Alex had never bothered to explore the apartment, but the fuse box was in Eliza’s room. So every night at a different time, she’d cut the power in his room, in the hopes of forcing him to sleep.

 

(And maybe a little bit of amusement at his surprised yelps and long string of curses every night).

 

She knows it’s working when Laf bounces up to her and tells her that he saw Alex actually manage to end a tirade on the social issues surrounding the presidency in less than sixteen minutes and not sway with exhaustion _once_.

 

Laf’s impressed, and Eliza is proud of herself, despite the still lingering distaste for her “husband”.

 

(The subject of their marriage never fails to amuse the Hamilsquad, even now. They have only added to that pinterest board they first made, and they take great pleasure in stealing Alex’s phone and changing Eliza’s contact info to various ridiculous emojis. It’s current the heart emoji with the sparkles beside it, and they are not the least bit ashamed.)

 

* * *

 

 

The long-awaited email comes on a Tuesday.

 

Its subject line reads “Placement 2016/2017 assignment”. Eliza can’t even wait until she’s home before opening it on her phone.

 

 

_“Dear Ms. Schuyler;_

_We are pleased that you elected to remain with us at NYU. We have confirmed your teaching placement as follows:_

_Bedford Elementary School, Grade 1._

_Associate Teacher: M. Washington._

_Contact details for the school are listed below. You are advised to contact your associate teacher prior to your placement starting. “_

 

 

She Google’s the school quickly, and finds its reputation in the first few pages. It’s a Title 1 school. Inner city.

 

And for some reason, that excites her. She’s gonna be in a real classroom, be a real teacher. She burns with the need to tell someone, before her weekly Friday Skype call with her sisters.

 

Which, she supposes, is how she finds herself outside of Alexander’s door, knocking fiercely.

 

It takes him long moments to open it, and when he does, his face is entirely begrudging, but she doesn’t notice as she grabs him and pulls him into a hug, the first genuine one they’ve shared.

 

He is frozen, and that’s what pulls her back to the present.

 

“Alex,” she gasps. “I got a placement!”

  
He barely reacts.

 

She gives his shoulder a light slap.

 

“I got a _placement_ , Alex! I’m gonna be a teacher!”

 

He lays an awkward hand on her shoulder, as if he’s not quite sure how to touch her.

 

“I’m happy for you, Eliza,” he whispers. “Congratulations.”

 

She doesn’t think until later that this was the first time he called her by her name.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The brick walls of Bedford Elementary are lined with hastily tacked student work as Eliza makes her way down the hall, wiping sweaty palms on her pencil skirt.

 

It was her first day as a student teacher, her first experience in a classroom, and nervous did not begin to cover what she was feeling.

 

She’d arrived early, at 7am on the dot, earlier than the teacher, a Martha Washington. The office staff had told her to wait, that they’d let her know when Mrs. Washington arrived, so she’d taken a seat on a hard wooden chair, posture wooden and tense.

 

She estimated it’d been less than ten minutes, but it feels like forever until they finally tell her to make her own way to the last room on the left at the end of the hallway.

 

She enters with caution. She’s a guest in this room, she rations. She’s not exactly sure of her place.

 

Martha Washington is a plump older lady with gray hair already escaping from the bun she’s forced it into. Her clothes are bright and cheerful, matching the warm and cozy feel she seems to have created in the small room, crammed with desks, beanbags, books, bulletin boards proudly displaying student work.

 

She notices Eliza right away and sweeps up to her.

 

“Eliza Schuyler? Welcome! Welcome to Room 1W. We’re happy to have you this year!”

 

She seems entirely genuine, and Eliza feels herself relaxing a bit.

 

“Thank you, ma’am. I’m glad to be here.”

 

“Oh, call me Martha. Welcome to Bedford. I’m glad you’re here early, we can chat a little bit before the kids come in.”

 

As it turns out, “chatting” really involves Eliza being handed a bulging folder of information, and talking for eight straight minutes about every routine the class may have. Overwhelmed didn’t quite cover what Eliza was feeling by the time the bell rang for the children to come in.

 

 _Relax_ , she tells herself. _This is why you’re doing this, why you’re doing all of this. You want this. You want this._

 

And she does, as she gazes into a line of inquisitive little faces.

 

She forces a smile she hopes looks genuine.

 

This is it.

 

This will work. It will.

 

 

**_There’s a fine, fine line_ **

**_Between reality and pretend_ **


	5. on the rise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Teaching, as it turns out, is both harder and easier than Eliza thought it might be. She was just getting to the point where she wasn’t ferociously nervous in front of the class (which was when a person got too confident, Martha reminded her. And that’s when you’ll get corrected on your math by a six-year-old).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry to report that this is a bit of a filler chapter, but I am working on the next one! I got this done during the week, which is novel for me. Usually writing is reserved for weekends, when I don’t feel tired enough to collapse.   
> Also, I realize that teaching is kind of its own language, so if anyone was wondering, last chapter it was said that Bedford Elementary is a Title 1 school. This means most students in this school live at or below the poverty line. Just for clarification purposes! Also, most of the school stuff in this is based on personal experience.

**I wish that I could cry**

**Fall upon my knees**

**Find a way to lie**

**About a home I’ll never see**

 

Truthfully, Eliza went not knowing what to expect, just excited to be _teaching_. The look on that little boy’s face as he smashed that playdough, so long ago, played over and over in her mind as she was mechanically led through her first few days at the school.

 

Teaching, as it turns out, is both harder and easier than Eliza thought it might be. She was just getting to the point where she wasn’t ferociously nervous in front of the class (which was when a person got too confident, Martha reminded her. And that’s when you’ll get corrected on your math by a six-year-old). She was being upped to two lessons a day, and while it was a ton of work to prepare, she loved it.

 

It became apparent quickly that Mrs. Washington ( _Martha_ , she insisted. _Washington is too long a name for these little ones)_ was the best kind of teacher. Patient, caring and sympathetic, she knew each child well, knew exactly how to reach each one, obviously cared deeply for each of them.

And her students thrived under her care. As a Title 1 school, Bedford had a breakfast program, a free lunch program, and several after school programs, since many of their students came to school having not eaten the previous night.

Even with this, Eliza would catch some of the wearier looking older children in the cafeteria, shoving ketchup packets in to their pockets. It gave her pause, since French fries, lasagna, or anything else traditionally associated with ketchup was not on the menu for today. When she asked Martha, the older woman gave her a look of sympathy.

“Honey, most of these kids have siblings to feed, and no money to feed them with. They take what they can.”

Eliza is stunned, just stunned. Her sisters and her were not wealthy by any means growing up, but they had food on the table every day. Suddenly, she feels a quite unwanted rush of sympathy for her father, flawed as he is.

“They eat condiments for dinner?”

Martha nods. “Some of them. Sometimes.”

And as it turns out, that is just the beginning. Many of the children, even the young ones in Eliza’s class, come from the foster care system, or homes in severe poverty.

“It breaks my heart,” Martha tells Eliza. “They have seen so much already, things a child should never see. So many fathers arrested in front of them, people murdered on the street, abandonment by those who were supposed to care for them.”

Eliza’s shock must have shown on her face, because Martha had patted her hand and assured her.

“We can only do our best, Eliza. We can only make them feel safe here.”

Slowly, through weeks of working at the school, Eliza was starting to realize this on her own. One of the most profound moments came when the children would beg Eliza for extra homework, insisting they “couldn’t do it on my own, Ms. Schuyler, please help!”.

In enough time working with these kids, Eliza had found them perfectly capable of this work, but they insisted on staying after school for help, some for many hours. She asked Martha about this during her first few weeks, and the older woman had looked at her with sympathy.

“Darlin’,” she said. “Here, these kids are fed, they’re taken care of, and there is electricity and heat and a spot to rest. Some of them have none of that at home. The power has been shut down for the third time that month, or mom and dad are at work or out doing god only knows what, and they are alone and responsible for siblings. Staying here seems like a pretty attractive option.”

Another time, she had offhandedly asked the kids what they did on weekends, and they had stared at her as if the answer should be obvious.

“I take care of my little sister, Miss.”

“Where’s your mom?”

A shrug. “At work, sometimes. Dunno about all the time.”

“Don’t they help you with your work when they’re home?”

The child shook his head. “Too tired. Or Dad’s with his friends and he tells me not to bother him.”

This was not to say this was the case for all children, however. At Bedford, Eliza had met some of the roughest looking people she had ever seen, and had seen them kneel down to receive their children, pepper them with kisses, keep little drawing their children had done in their battered wallets, stop Eliza to show her pictures, beaming with pride, of their younger and older ones. Some of the children were in solid, happy home situations. Some skipped to their parents at the end of the day, bubbling about their day. Some parents, she could tell, were truly doing their best. Their love for their children was genuine and profound. The children ran to their parents at the end of the day, the parents volunteered in the classrooms when they could. Eliza was inspired by their love for their children.

Inspired enough, after a month at the school, to want to help. It was a conundrum at first. Eliza didn’t know what to do, she had no extra money to speak of to buy food or supplies, she was maxing out all the resources she had just staying afloat, and she couldn’t very well ask Alex for more.

But then she remembered the conversation she had with the child who said they spent their weekends babysitting their siblings, and well, inspiration struck.

A playgroup.

She had no money, but she could take over childcare for one day a week. She could let children enjoy their weekends.

With Martha and the Principal’s approval, she began putting up fliers for a Saturday playgroup. She had set the hours at 8am to 2pm, the maximum number of children at 15, and had wrangled her sisters and a _very_ reluctant Laurens into helping her.

( _I don’t do kids, Eliza! Haven’t I fulfilled my best friend obligation already?!)_

Within the day, she had 15 children signed up. It filled her with a sense of satisfaction.

But during pickup, the parents began seeking her out, begging her to take their child too, just one more, they really needed a sitter during the day.

So she signed one more child up. And then two. And then three, and before she knew it, her playgroup had 43 children on the list, and was still growing.

So clearly, she needed more help. She recruited Laf and Herc, who in turn, drag in a Theodosia Provost and her stammering, _very_ reluctant boyfriend Aaron Burr.

They stake out a city park one Saturday, and collapse onto the bleachers at 7am, waiting.

They don’t need to wait long. Children pour in for the next two hours, immediately taking hold of the balls and rackets and other basic toys they’ve managed to scrounge up.

The first day is a smashing success.

Laurens and Herc kick a ball around with some of the kids (which quickly turns into a heap of children jumping on the two men, taking great pleasure in their grunts of pain).

Laf even lets three girls comb through his hair and adorn it with ribbons and bows (though he nearly comes to blows with Herc when he shows his face to the other man and Herc snaps a picture, posts it on Facebook, and tags him in it with the caption “I feel prettyyyyyy”)

And in the end, Eliza sits with a boy called Daniel’s head on her lap, her fingers combing through his dirty hair, the boy nearly asleep.

Which is when she sees Alex.

She eases Daniel’s head to the ground and goes to him, gaping incredulously.

“I’m hallucinating. That the only explanation. It’s been a long day, and I’m tired, and I’m hallucinating.”

“Hilarious, Schuyler. Not enough people are around for your good ones.”

She makes a show out of poking his arm. “Alex, you’re real! You are actually outdoors, voluntarily interacting with three dimensional people, to, presumably, not yell at them.”

He mutters darkly under his breath. “Stick a sock in it, Schuyler. I’m just out for a walk. You just unfortunately happen to be in the same vicinity.”

“Okay, first of all, who says ‘stick a sock in it’? And second of all, you _walk_? You go _outdoors_?”

He scoffs. “Okay, so maybe not, but you stole all my friends and Burr, and I had to see what was going on.”

“Mh-hmm. And you got kicked out of class again.”

“I did not!”

She raises a brow silently.

“Okay,” he relents. “But that’s beside the point. I _did_ want to see.”

“You’ve seen, Alex. You can go. This requires actual human interaction. Not your forte.”

A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, and he shakes his head. “Nah. Think I have to see this for myself. Public space, you know. I’m gonna sit down for awhile. Maybe slip my number to Laf’s hot sister over there,” he indicates Lafayette, whose hair is still adorned with all manner of decorations.

True to his word, Alex makes his way to a nearby tree, which is only occupied by a little girl.

The child sits resolutely in the corner, eyes cast down. Eliza had tried several times, along with many others, to bring the little girl out of her shell, but with no luck. Eliza figures she’s just shy and will come around in her own time, but the girl shows no signs of wanting to talk to anyone.

Alex, ever socially unaware, flops down beside her.

Eliza cringes.

But he doesn’t say a word. Just sits there. After awhile, Eliza turns back to the rest of the group, and Alex just sits there.

Nothing has changed by the time the children go home, sweaty and exhausted. The little girl is the last one to be picked up. Her mother grabs her wrist and drags her away, and both her and Alex haven’t moved.

His eyes follow her out, but he says nothing.

Just turns up the next week, at the same time, by the same child, at the same tree.

 

* * *

 

On that Saturday, the boys had come to her and presented her with a box full of bracelets, all identical.

“So we don’t lose any kids,” they had told her. One had been given to each child and they wore it as if it were a congressional medal of honor. It warmed Eliza’s heart.

The same week, they sat down for lunch as a group, spreading out over six picnic tables. Eliza squeezes in near a young boy when he grabs her wrist and points to Alex, who, along with the little girl he sits with (now incrementally closer than before and sometimes even looked up at him), stubbornly refuses to eat with them.

“Miss Schuyler? Who is that?”

The question had fortunately never come up, in three weeks of playgroup. The group was now well established, and the children had noticed Alex’s presence, marked out when he didn’t play with them like the other boys.

“That’s…a friend of mine.”

It was probably foolish to think that would pacify the child. It, of course, didn’t.

“But he wears the same ring on his hand as you. My mommy used to have that. Does that mean you’re married to him?”

“It means…” Shit. She’s not even sure how to answer that. How do you explain a convenience marriage to a child?

“It means Alex and I are a special kind of friend.”

The child’s brow furrows in confusion.

“So you’re…friends with him? Special friends?”

“Yes,” she says. “Special friends.”  


(Later, he goes over to Alex and extends his hand to greet “Miss Schuyler’s special friend” and Alex’s eyes nearly bug out of his head, which is when it occurs to her that she may have to think of a new term).

**Will I see you tonight, on a downtown train?**

**Where every night it’s just the same**

**You leave me lonely**


	6. how could i ever forget

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliza still switched off the power in his room when she saw the light on at inhuman hours (and Alex still let off a string of curses that would make a sailor blush). But she also made him dinner. Sometimes. Once in awhile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was a pretty fast update by my standards! And a somewhat non-filler chapter! I wanted to put more in here but I got to the ending and thought it was best left there. We’re starting to unwind Alex a bit more. Also, writing Alex/Eliza banter is my favorite thing to do. 
> 
> Thank you for all the lovely feedback, I hope you enjoy this chapter!

**You and me can make it anywhere**   
**For now, we can stay here for a while**

 

Okay, so maybe being married to Alex was getting _slightly_ more tolerable with time. Or maybe Eliza had just figured out the best ways to manipulate him into acting like a human being. Maybe neither, maybe it was all a balancing act.

 

Eliza still switched off the power in his room when she saw the light on at inhuman hours (and Alex still let off a string of curses that would make a sailor blush). But she also made him dinner. Sometimes. Once in awhile.

 

Not that they ate together, of course. That was still way too normal for Alex. No, the food was left outside his room with a rap on his door, and Eliza would slip away before the door opened. Nonetheless, the next day the plate was clear by the next day and Alex had actually started doing his own dishes.

 

His tone was a bit lighter when he spoke with her, too, though she was still “Schuyler” to him.

 

He continued to come to the playgroup, always sitting beside the little girl. The other children were curious, and eventually came up to him and started asking him questions. He answered in short, noncommittal answers, but they were not satisfied. They pressed him further, until he started grabbing them onto his lap and tickling them to silence them.

 

(The scene makes Eliza’s heart clench and she’s not really sure why.)

 

The children are drawn to Alex. He never gets up, but he allows them to rope him into sitting games of catch, allows them to craft him friendship bracelets and acquiesces when they want to adorn his arm with them.

 

Eliza’s also discovered another talent he has. He’s an amazing storyteller. She supposes this shouldn’t be a surprise, his room is stuffed with books and he is well educated and knowledgeable, but Alex sucks children into his stories, weaving long narratives about palaces and kings and princesses and knights. It becomes somewhat of a weekly tradition, after lunch, before the children go home, they will sit cross legged before Alex and he will launch into a long winded tale he makes up on the spot.

 

“Hope those kids are prepared for an hours-long story,” Herc tells her. “Shutting up is not a reflex Alex has.”

 

He needn’t have worried though. The children are spellbound, fascinated. And Alex sits there, gesticulating wildly with his hands, with a soft look in his eyes. He seems so _human_ , Eliza barely knows what to make of him.

 

Alexander Hamilton is one constant surprise.

 

And speaking of surprises, Eliza gets a fairly big one when she ends her lessons for the day, and hears the gasps and squeals of children, and the shuffling of feet towards the door.

 

She looks up, and in the door stands Alex, his usual defensive expression on his face.

 

She makes her way up to him, mouth agape.

 

“It’s 3pm.”

 

“Is that what it means when the little hand points to the three?”

 

His response is pointed and defensive. She’s not really surprised at that, but Alex showing up at her school is akin to a unicorn trotting into her classroom.

 

“Alex…it’s a human hour. What are you doing in an elementary school at a human hour? Are you looking to study us functional human so you can imitate our ways? Maybe report back to your alien overlords?”

 

“That’s hilarious, Schuyler,” he snaps. “Don’t think so much of yourself. I just happened to be in the neighborhood.”

 

“How many cabs did you have take to get in the neighborhood?”

 

He huffs with irritation, mumbles something about “not worth this” and seems about to turn away, before one of Eliza’s students runs at him, hugging him around the legs.

 

“Mr. Alex! You’re here to visit us!”

 

A ghost of a smile (a foreign expression on Alex) plays at his lips as he disentangles himself and kneels down to the child’s level.

 

“I’ll do you one better, Falcon. How about I walk you home?”

 

The child’s face lights in excitement.

 

“You’re going to walk me home?”

 

“If your mom isn’t here to do it.”

 

Falcon shakes his head. “She’s working. Can my sister come with us?”  


Alex nods. “Can’t leave her behind. Why don’t you go get ready to go home, and I’ll meet you outside.”

 

The child squeaks with excitement and dashes off to gather his belongings.

 

Eliza, meanwhile, was still staring at Alex as if he had three heads.

 

“Who _are_ you? And what have you done with my hermit of a fake husband?”

 

“Don’t worry, Schuyler, he still wants as little to do with you as possible. Your virtue is safe. Unfortunately, to hang with some genuinely cool kids, I am forced to suffer through interaction with you.”

 

Eliza groans, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Alex, seriously. I am going to ask you one more time, and hope against hope for a non-sarcastic answer. _Why_ are you here?”

 

He’s silent for a moment. “I had to walk home alone a lot when I was a kid. Some company might have been nice. Figured these kids may need someone to make sure they get home safe.”

 

And apparently Alex is not done stunning her today, because their conversation is blessedly cut short when Falcon and two other children trot up to them, ready to go. Three children vie to hold Alex’s hand and after clearing it with Martha to make sure the school didn’t think a strange man was picking up children he didn’t know, they left.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He’s in his room when Eliza gets home that night, and he doesn’t try and speak to her.

 

But he shows up the next day.

 

And the one after.

 

And every day for the next week.

 

More and more children join him as he leads the group out the school gates, but he never says a word to Eliza about it.

 

* * *

 

She likes to think there is nothing left that Alexander can do to surprise her. She’s so very wrong, because when she gets home on Wednesday, two of her students sit at their rarely used table.

 

She drops her bag in shock.

 

“Alex, you were supposed to take them _home_.”

 

“Relax, Schuyler. They’re not on the lam. Got permission from the parents. “

 

“Hi, Ms. Schuyler,” the children chorus.

 

“Hey, Jessie. Natalie,” she smiles.

 

She tugs on Alex’s sleeve and gently brings him into the corner.

 

“Why did you bring them here, Alex?”

 

He shrugs, his ears reddening. “I took them home but they told me they didn’t have anything for dinner today, and they hadn’t eaten since lunch. And they looked…hungry. I don’t know. It was just kind of spur of the moment. I got a grunted version of permission from the drunken grandpa in the house. Thought I’d just grab them a quick bite here, but then I realized…I don’t really…know how things work in the kitchen.”

 

Eliza can’t help how the giggles bubble in her throat.

 

“So what did you give them?”

 

He reddens further as she sneaks a look at the girls’ plates. Each contains a slice of processed cheese, half a cracker, and a single grape.

 

“Jesus, Alex, don’t stuff them. They’re not going to be able to get home with all that.”

 

“You’re not helping.”

 

Eliza laughs, reaching down before she can think about it and squeezing his hand.

 

“Okay, mockery over. That was actually…uncharacteristically sweet. Nice to know it’s a trait you can emulate.”

 

He looks at their joined hands in shock, but doesn’t let go.

 

“Now come on. Let’s get some good food into these kids.”

 

 

* * *

 

That’s not the last time he brings kids home for dinner.

 

He still hasn’t learned to cook, or really fashion anything in the kitchen, so she gets one of her first texts from Alex a week after the first impromptu dinner, telling her to come home.

 

It fills her with an odd feeling of warmth that she forces herself not to think about.

 

Their house becomes somewhat of an assembly line of kids two or three days a week, but that is actual hours that Alex doesn’t spend scribbling slanderous letters or holed up in his room, and Eliza…doesn’t hate the company.

 

(And she absolutely does _not_ think about how the glint in his eyes and the embarrassed flush whenever she comes home to find a new child in her kitchen _is_ kind of adorable.)

 

* * *

 

 

She starts walking home with Alex and the children three weeks after he first comes to her classroom. He doesn’t react, but he accepts her presence.

 

The children live all over the city, so they end up walking for a while. The houses they call home are in various states, some well-kept and a good size, some she hesitates to leave them in, while they skip happily to the door, waving furiously.

 

Falcon, the first child Alex walked home, lives through the park, a half-hour walk away. They drop him off last, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He swings Alex’s hand in his, skips through the park with all the irrepressible freedom of a child.

 

One Tuesday, he skips ahead of Alex, who trails back to walk next to Eliza.

 

“He’s so happy,” she observes softly.

 

“Yeah. To be a kid again.”

 

Eliza smiles. Tipping her head back, she breathed in the fresh air as they made their way beside a small ravine. A breeze drifted through and tousled her hair, and if she had lifted her head a second later, she wouldn’t have seen Alex’s eyes on her, his gaze drinking her in.

 

But she does see, and her cheeks flush immediately. Something seemed to have changed between her and Alex in the last few weeks. They had definitely moved past enemy territory, and it almost seemed on some occasions like he enjoyed her company.

 

And if she were to _really_ press herself, she’d have to admit the feeling was mutual.

 

The moment is, as always, broken by a child. “Mr. Alex, look at me,” Falcon cries as he stumbles over the rocks lining the shallow ravine.

 

Alex’s brown eyes flick over to the boy, and everything seems to happen in slow motion.

 

Falcon’s battered shoes try to grip the slippery rock, but they slip. His legs shoot out from under him, and the boy lands face-first in the ravine.

 

Eliza dashes over to him, wading carefully through the water and retrieving the wet child.

 

Shrugging an arm out of her coat, she wipes the boy’s face clean of dirty water and tears.

 

“Falcon, sweetie. Are you okay?”

 

He nods, his eyes betraying the sentiment as tears leak out.

 

Eliza hugs him to her, stroking his back as he slowly calms. “Do you think you can make it home okay? We’ll get you changed there.”

 

Falcon nods. “I’m okay, Ms. Schuyler.”

 

“Brave boy. Let’s get you home.”

 

* * *

 

Looking back, Eliza couldn’t say where Alex was exactly during the fall itself.

 

But he makes himself known as he storms up to them and grabs the boy by the arms.

 

His face is pinched into an expression Eliza has never seen before. He is white as a ghost, his eyes wide and shining with what looks suspiciously like tears, and he wears an expression that Eliza can’t even name.

 

“What were you _thinking_?”

 

It’s exhaled on a hiss. Falcon looks up at Alex, his lip trembling.   


“I didn’t mean to fall, Mr. Alex. I just wanted to show you…”

 

“You could have been _killed._ You could have died, just… _died_. How could you be so careless?! “

 

Falcon’s eyes well with tears again.

 

Eliza reaches out and lays a hand on Alex’s arm.

 

“Alex, it was just an accident…”

 

“No!” Alex shakes his head. “No, these things don’t just happen! They happen when people are _careless_ , when they don’t _think_..”

 

He breaks off with a choked gasp. “And then it’s over. And there is _nothing_ you can do to change it.”

 

It’s such an extreme overreaction; Eliza doesn’t even know what to say.

 

She reaches for his hand without thinking and he jerks away as if her touch is poisonous.

 

“Alex,” she breathes. “Are you alright?”

 

He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t move, doesn’t even indicate he has heard her, until he finally releases the terrified boy into Eliza’s arms and finally meets her eyes.

 

It’s as if he’s not even there. Like he’s been lost to the past.

 

“Get him home,” he grates out.

 

He manages to shift the boy’s backpack off his back, and then he’s gone.

 

**How could I ever forget?**   
**Outside the morning was cool and wet**   
**He had such chills but still**   
**He lay there so still**


	7. poison and wine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How is it that she came in here for answers and only left with more questions?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS. I SAW MOANA. OH MY GOD ITS SO GOOD. SO GOOD. GO SEE IT. AND YOU CAN HEAR LIN AND I MAY HAVE CRIED.  
> Also, please forgive my obsession with the 100 (and my general hatred of Clarke’s “people”) creeping in here. It’s only one paragraph I swear.

**Add another to list of maybe next time**

**Walk another inch along your thread**

 

Eliza decides that she was a fool to think she was making progress.

 

No, Alex told her all along. He was here for the kids. He liked kids. He didn’t like her. She was a relation on a piece of paper to him, and that was it.

 

So when he purposely avoids her the next few days, she forces herself not to be surprised.

 

 _Why do you care,_ she dares to ask herself. _He’s nothing more than a name on a legal document to you too. It’s not like you ever expected anything else. So why does it matter now?_

She ponders on that for days and never comes up with a concrete answer. The closest she gets would be concern for Alex, despite what they are to each other. She’s human, after all. And Alex is…Alex. Not exactly a social butterfly on the best of days, but that look in his eyes when Falcon had fallen into the water was beyond anything she had seen.

 

Alex was many things, but he was consistent. A consistently unfriendly, socially inept hermit, sure, but he was consistent. If anything, he seemed to take pride in controlling his emotions, manipulating situations for his benefit.

 

And that episode at the river was so _un_ Alex, it stuck with Eliza.

 

Plus, that look. When Falcon had fallen in, when he had seen the boy headfirst in the water and floundering, it was like Alex had ceased to be Alex for a moment. Or at least, not the Alex she knew.

 

_Things like that don’t just happen._

And the worst of it is, she’ll never know. Alex is as much a mystery to his friends as he is to her, so they’d know nothing.

 

Still, the curiosity burns.

 

But again, she’d never know. After all, it’s not like she could break into his bedroom at a time she knows he has a class he’d never miss and she happens to be free and snoop around for information.

 

No, it just wouldn’t be possible.

 

And more importantly, it would be wrong.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Alex’s door gives a creak as she pushes it open, and Eliza glares at it and shushes it.

 

“Quiet,” she hisses. “He’ll hear.”

 

(He’s at class and she’s talking to a piece of wood. Oh god, Alex’s insanity apparently started corrupting a person the moment they set foot in his room).

 

His papers were scattered all over his desk. She doubts she’ll find much there, but does glimpse headlines like _Why Adams’ Government Is A Danger To Us All._

She searches for a good ten minutes, turning up nothing but plates, dirty laundry, takeout containers and loose paper.

 

She’s about to give up when her knee whacks against Alex’s bedside table.

 

Biting down a groan of pain, she leans down to rub the inflamed skin, and that’s when she sees it.

 

Tucked into the side of Alex’s nightstand, on the outside of the drawer, is a small tin. She picks it up gently and pries the top open, memorizing its location so she can put it back later.

 

There are photos in it. Only a few, of course. Four, to be exact.

 

One is a photo of Alex and a few of her students from the playgroup. They’re all sporting goofy expressions, their faces flushed and happy. It makes Eliza smile to look at it. It’s rather sweet that he kept this, she thinks as she flips to the next photo.

 

Then there’s a photo of a stately-looking couple. They stand in front of an enormous house. Unlike the previous photo, their faces are pinched and solemn, though they are smiling. It’s an odd expression, almost as if they are trying to look happy and unhappy at the same time.

 

Eliza gazes in at the woman’s face and gasps. She’d know that face anywhere. And the man’s eyes….they both look just like Alex. These must be his parents. The parents he claims to loathe, yet keeps a photo of, in a place that seems so personal.

 

She forces her gaze to turn to the next photo, and her chest clenches in shock.

 

It’s her.

 

An old one from Facebook, but her.

 

An image of she and her sisters look up at her, their faces bright with happiness. Peggy and Angelica aren’t looking at the camera, but Eliza is. Her heart beats frantically in her chest, her mind whirling.

 

Alex _hates_ her. He hates her, this is all fake, why does he have a photo of her?

 

She almost drops the photos when her gaze falls on the last one.

 

The last photo is of a little boy. His face is turned to the side, but she can see a dimpled smile on his face. His brown hair is long and shaggy. He sits on a swing, his expression bright as he gazes at something beyond the camera.

 

Holding the photo up to the light, she can see words on the back. She turns the photo and reads.

 

It’s unmistakably Alex’s hastily scrawled penmanship.

 

_Conclusions: Accidental Death._

That’s it.

 

Eliza looks at all four photos again and again.

 

How is it that she came in here for answers and only left with more questions?

 

Are the people in the photo Alex’s parents? Why does he keep this if he claims to hate them? Why does he have a photo of her if he claims to hate her? Who is the boy in the photo? Is he dead? Why those word on the back?

 

Eliza’s head is spinning so fast that she is surprised she remembers to put the photos back.

 

She creeps out of Alex’s room. She wants to tell someone, but who?

 

She wants to ask Alex for answers but she can’t.

 

She can only stew in the knowledge that maybe Laurens was right all along.

 

_When he doesn’t want to talk about it, you can consider it dropped for good. Don’t hold out much hope of uncovering long lost family secrets._

 

* * *

 

 

He gets home late, but she’s prepared.

 

She’s made spaghetti and garlic bread again. Like the first meal. She’s set out the plates purposely this time.

 

Two of them, one on each side of the table, a Coke beside each.

 

He makes to go to his room immediately, but she calls out to him.

 

“Alex?”

 

It’s the first name that gets him, not the usual “Hamilton”. Nor too, the usual tone of disdain.

 

It’s at least enough to make him turn.

 

Eliza twists her fingers together nervously.

 

“I…how was class?”

 

He looks at her with a tightly guarded expression. “Fine. Why?”

 

She shrugs. “Just asking.”

 

His eyes darken further. “You never just ask.”

 

He’s clearly not going to make this easy. Eliza sighs and tries a different tack.

 

“I made dinner. I thought you might be hungry.”

 

Now he’s looking at her as if she’s grown a third head. She sees something shift behind his eyes, can practically see the mask of the unreachable Hamilton being put in place.

 

“You…what is this Schuyler? We’re already hitched, you trying to get me to buy you a jet?”

 

With a groan, she takes his hand and shoves a plate into it.

 

“Spaghetti is not a bargaining chip for the purchase of heavy machinery, Alex. It’s just dinner. Sometimes food is just food.”

 

He allows himself to be pushed to the stove, and lifts the lid off a pot with an appreciative inhale.

 

“This smells delicious, and also like an I’m sorry meal. What did you do?”

 

Panic rises for a brief moment inside Eliza, as the smiling face of the little boy in the picture comes to mind, but she squashes it quickly.

 

“Just food, Alex. I swear. Now eat.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

He tries to escape as soon as his plate is full, but she grabs his arm.

 

“No way. Sit down. You’re going to sit down and eat with me, like an actual human being.”

 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, that was not part of the deal.”

 

“Yes it was. You accepted the food, deal was brokered right there. You want free food, you gotta take company as well, now sit.”

 

He scowls, and looks like he’s about to turn around when his stomach gives an audible rumble.

 

Eliza’s lips quirk in a smirk, which is met with a glare.

 

“Fine, Schuyler. You win. I’ll suffer your company.”

 

He flops down in chair and takes a bite without waiting for her.

 

“Knew this was trick food,” he mumbles.

 

“Congratulations,” she grins. “You fell for it anyway.”

 

They eat in silence for awhile, before Alex’s voice breaks through, soft and somewhat timid.

 

“I’m not going to talk about it, you know.”

 

Eliza doesn’t need to ask for context.

 

She slides her hand incrementally closer to his, careful not to touch him.

 

“I know,” she says. “I know. But…if you ever…”

 

“I know.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Surprisingly enough, conversation flows easily. She’d counted on it being awkward, but they manage to fall into their usual banter.

 

Alex’s phone rings when they’re cleaning up.

 

( _Good thing we weren’t in the middle of a clichéd romantic moment,_ he grins)

 

He takes it in the other room, where she hears the timbre of his voice rise quickly, and the agitation in his tone as he hisses to the person on the other end.

 

And, well, she’d violated his privacy already today. Twice in one day wouldn’t exactly make the situation _worse_.

 

The kitchen and the dining room are separated by a wooden door. Eliza presses an ear against it, with her feet poised to step away should the need arise.

 

“No, _Rachael,_ I will not be coming home.” He spits the name out like an insult.

 

“I thought I made it clear I don’t give a shit how you…how the hell did you find out about that?”

 

He’s silent for a moment, and she can hear ragged breaths.

 

“’Mend the relationship’ is that what the therapists are telling you to call it?”

 

“I’m doing perfectly fine with it, despite my _shining_ example.”

 

“Don’t _Alexander_ me.”

 

And then his voice snarls through the phone, angrier than she has ever heard it.

 

“Leave her the hell out of it. You never gave a shit about me before, no matter…don’t try to pretend you care now. Lose this number. Never call again. Just leave me the hell alone.”

 

She barely manages to jump back from the door in time, before Alex storms back in.

 

His face is a mask of anger, his brow furrowed and lip pursed into a thin line. He passes his hands angrily through his hair, dislodging his phone and making it slip squarely into the pot of spaghetti (which thankfully had been removed from the heat).

 

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Eliza can’t help the giggle that erupts.

 

“You know, in China, that’s considered a delicacy.”

 

He stares at her, open mouthed, before she sees the ghost of a smile playing at his lips.

 

And just like that, some of the tension eases out of his shoulders.

 

He opens his mouth to speak but she beats him to it.

 

“Got it, got it, don’t want to talk about it, strong-silent-annoying type, I know. But traditionally, dinner is followed with a movie, and that is a tradition no amount of mysterious phone calls are going to interrupt. Plus, I made dinner _and_ I cleaned up, so really, it’s the least you could do for me.”

 

This time, it’s a real smile he gives her, and the look in his eyes is so soft, she has to force her gaze away.

 

He sighs heavily. “You’re so…”

 

He doesn’t complete the thought, but they both let the words hang in the air for a moment.

 

“Awfully convenient timing for a tense phone call, by the way,” she grins. “Now march.”

 

* * *

 

 

They eventually settle on a few episodes of The 100, and typically, they can’t agree on which one.

 

( _Season 1 is where it all began_ , Alex argues)

 

( _Yes, and despite it, they got a season 2,_ Eliza throws back).

 

( _But The 100 are such assholes in season 1,_ Alex whines.)

 

(Eliza gives him an incredulous look. _And they were the pinnacle of reason and kindness in season two?)_

 

That had given him pause for a few moments.

 

“Wow, why does Clarke keep trying to save these people? They’re…kind of assholes all the time.”

 

She grins. “It does seem a waste of time.”

 

“Season two then. At least it has Lexa.”

 

 

They watch three episodes before Eliza falls asleep (she’ll later maintain she watch the entirety of those three, Alex will maintain that she barely made it through half of one).

 

 

**The house is pulsing with an alien heartbeat**


	8. i'd forgotten how to smile (until your candle burned my skin)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (He introduces her as his wife because he has to, and she ignores the warmth spreading through her at the words. It’s fake, she knows.)
> 
> (Though, the shine of pride in his eyes as he says it is difficult for a person to fake.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LET’S PLAY (BAMBOOZLED) HOW MANY TROPES CAN SADIE FIT INTO ONE CHAPTER! 
> 
> It has been forever, and I am truly sorry! Life at my work has been crazy, it’s grading season and prepping for the Christmas show, etc. I pretty much collapse into bed at the end of the day. My family are actually headed to my place for Christmas, so I’ve preemptively written this chapter and the next to hold you guys over while they’re here. 
> 
> And we’re finally getting somewhere with these two crazy kids! I meant it when I said in chapter 1 that dialogue is a huge challenge for me, and it still is, but it seems to flow pretty easily in this story, so I hope it doesn’t sound awkward to you guys! As it turns out, the actual words are not the problem, but connecting them together is super tough. 
> 
> Anyhow, tell me your thoughts, and thank you for all your wonderful comments!

**I should tell you, I'm disaster**   
**I forget how to begin it**

 

 

Things were…. different.

 

Rather, things were better.

 

After their impromptu movie night, Eliza and Alexander had fallen asleep on the couch, not quite entangled but Eliza had woken with a crick in her neck and her cheek pressed against Alex’s shoulder.

 

In that brief moment between consciousness and sleep, he had felt so comfortably warm and she had snuggled a bit closer, her head pressing into his neck.

 

(Until, of course, the full force of consciousness hit her and her cheeks burned and she slunk away without waking him)

 

_It’s fake, this is all fake, you’ve got a few years invested in this and that is it._

 

* * *

 

 

Two days later, she invites him to watch the next few episodes of the 100 with her, but this time they lie on her bed.

 

_So much more comfortable_ , she breathes as she stretches out, and he sits down at first like she’s leading him into a trap, then gradually relaxing.

 

And again, Eliza wakes with a black laptop screen and her cheek pressed to a sleeping Alex’s shoulder.

 

* * *

 

 

It becomes a tradition before either of them realize.

 

He gets home around dinner, she cooks (sometimes he cooks with her carefully guiding him), he cleans, and they fall asleep on her bed, watching a movie.

 

* * *

 

Apparently there’s a gala, because of course there is.

 

Alex’s parents donated money to some Tisch foundation thing, supposedly raising money for arts education, so he is required to go, and after stumbling over a few awkward attempts to ask her to come ( _come on, Schuyler, schmoozing with rich people is not your idea of fun?_ ), she agrees to go with him.

 

She finds a dress that could reasonably be called formal and carefully applies her makeup.

 

She actually looks pretty, she thinks, and some stupid part of her wonders what Alex will think when he sees her.

 

The only indication that Alex likes it is the flush that spreads up his cheeks upon seeing her, and the gruffness in his voice as he offers her his arm.

 

(He introduces her as his wife because he has to, and she ignores the warmth spreading through her at the words. It’s fake, she _knows_.)

 

(Though, the shine of pride in his eyes as he says it is difficult for a person to fake.)

 

* * *

 

Jefferson is there, because of _course_ he is. He finds her at the bar; nursing a cocktail during one of the rare moments she’s not with Alex.

 

“My _dear_ Eliza,” he grins. “Your husband isn’t with you? Trouble in paradise already?”

 

She groans. “Fuck off, Jefferson. He’s talking to someone. Despite what you may think, I _am_ capable of taking care of myself for two minutes.”

 

His grin spreads. “You capable of other things?”

 

“What?”

 

He slides in next to her, lays a hand over his.

 

“Look, I know why you’re doing this. I’ve known Alexander a long time, and I know him, whether he cares to admit it or not.”

 

His hand squeezes hers and she very nearly shudders.

 

“This is fake. Alex is only in it to piss off his parents, and you’re only in it for the cash. So, if the marriage is fake to begin with, neither of you should mind if one….gets their pleasure elsewhere.”

 

She yanks her hand from his, revulsion coursing through her. She’s just about to respond when another hand clamps down on her arm.

 

“Get the fuck out of here, Jefferson.”

 

Alex’s voice is low and dangerous.

 

Jefferson looks momentarily startled, but pastes a smile on quickly.

 

“Alexander Hamilton,” he says smoothly. “The talk of the town. I was just talking to your lovely _wife_ here…”

 

“Don’t. Stay the hell away from her.” Alex bites out.

 

Eliza lays a hand on his arm before she can think twice about it. “It’s fine, Alex. Thomas was just leaving...”

 

“Yes,” Jefferson cuts in, with a smirk on his face. “Have to leave the newlyweds to themselves.”

 

Alex’s entire body is tense, and Eliza takes a brief moment to wonder why Jefferson always seemed to do this to him. Why did he get under Alex’s skin so easily?

 

The drinks all of them spent the night consuming don’t exactly help, she supposes, nor does the way Jefferson gets right in Alex’s face to hiss at him.

 

“Where do I find one of her, Hamilton? She good in bed? She looks like she would be.”

 

Eliza groans. “God, Jefferson, you’re pathetic. Is it really that hard for you to get a girl? You have to resort to asshole comments?”

She stands quickly, and is grateful for it, looking back.

 

Had she been sitting, she wouldn’t have seen Alex hand swing back to punch Jefferson.

 

But she does, and she makes a decision in a moment. It’s too late to grab Alex, so she quickly shifts so she’s standing in front of Jefferson, directly in Alex’s path.

 

He drops his hand immediately, and she seizes it, dragging him away from a triumphantly grinning Jefferson.

 

“What the hell was that?” she hisses.

 

“He was insulting you!” Alex snaps back.

 

“This is not 1952, Alex! I don’t need you to defend me!”

 

“Well, someone has to Eliza, if you’re going to be too nice for your own good.”

 

“This isn’t even about me, Alex! This is about you. You, and Jefferson, and whatever he seems to be holding over you that you don’t want me finding out.”

 

She can see Alex’s face pale, even in the dim lighting.

 

“It’s not, Eliza.” Even he doesn’t sound convinced.

 

Alex heaves a sigh, and his whole body relaxes a bit.

 

“Just…stay away from him, okay? Just trust me enough to believe that he’s bad news. He’s out to get me, and he always has been.”

 

She must look doubtful, because Alex actually reaches down and grabs her hand.

 

“Just trust me, Eliza. I’ve never asked you for anything else. But I’m asking now. Trust me on this.”

 

* * *

 

 

Eliza is acutely aware of something having shifted between them. This feels different. More real.

 

She supposes that’s why, when her sisters mentioned during their weekly Skype date, that they were going to be in town next weekend and wanted to meet Alex, she said yes.

 

(Well, in her defense, most ideas seem good at the time. Hindsight is 20/20).

 

Peggy squeals with excitement, and Angelica looks like she’s getting ready to jump through the screen and hug Eliza when she agrees.

 

Alex, on the other hand, looks absolutely panicked.

 

“I can’t _believe_ you agreed to this, Schuyler!”

 

“You’re my fake husband, Alex, like it or not. They’re gonna have to meet you sometime. At least I choose a neutral location.”

  
Alex looks at her as if she’s insane.

 

“One Schuyler is enough of a headache. Now you’re saying I have to voluntarily spend time with _three_?”

 

“No, I’m pretty sure I’ll be dragging you, therefore it is not voluntary. It is, however, mandatory, so get over it. It’s like two hours. You’ll live.”

 

He does, and that’s rather the problem.

 

She remembers John telling her, what seems like a lifetime ago, that Alex did fine with women. She’s never gotten to see it in action herself, but as soon as he sees her sisters, he becomes a completely different person.

 

Particularly around Angelica.

 

They fall right away into a lively debate about the current presidential candidates that lasts well over a half-hour, heads turned together, and are they sitting closer together than they were 30 minutes ago or is that just Eliza’s imagination?

 

Also, why are their hands so close together? They’re basically strangers, Eliza doesn’t really feel it’s necessary to be so physically close.

 

(Yes, the voice in her head whispers why she cares, and she squashes it, because she doesn’t. She’s merely pointing out polite and impolite conversational tactics. That’s all.)

 

Alex charms both of her sisters, asking Peggy about her job, falling into easy conversation with Angelica, and Eliza _should_ be relieved, but somehow she’s not.

 

He kisses their hands when they leave, insists on paying for their meal, and both her sisters shoot Eliza looks of amazement.

 

She barely notices, because his lips linger on Angelica’s hand a bit too long, she thinks.

 

For god’s sake, her sister is in a relationship _._

 

( _He’s_ married, that voice inside her head whispers.)

 

* * *

 

 

They walk home in silence, something Alex clearly notices.

 

“Okay, performance rating,” Alex tries. “On a scale of one to ten, how amazing a fake husband was I? I say ten, but bear in mind the number is just an abstract concept. Feel free to go as high as seventy. Let your heart be your guide.”

 

_Eliza didn’t say her sisters were so gorgeous._ He was looking at Angelica when he said that.

 

She doesn’t reply.

 

Anger (and a bit of something else) twists her insides, strong enough to remain resolute, even seeing the hurt look on his face at her silence.

 

She unlocks their door when they arrive and sweeps in, tossing her keys and bag on the couch, heading to her room.

 

He follows, not unlike a lost puppy, she thinks, as she strides down the hall, and she knows what he’s expecting.

 

They had dinner, already, so he’s probably already queued something on Netflix for them to watch.

 

_I look forward to seeing you again._ He was looking at Angelica.

 

He wants Angelica, not her, and she doesn’t know why she’s hurt or even surprised.

 

She stops pointedly at Alex's door and beckons him in. 

 

The way his face falls shouldn't hurt her, but it does. 

 

"You gonna tell me what's got you like this, Schuyler?" 

 

"Like what?" 

 

"Just..." he falters. "Just different. Like it used to be." 

 

That hurts, too. Before, when they were cold to each other. When they were a name on a piece of paper. That was before. Which means now is different. Now they're more. 

 

And, wow, is that a scary thought. 

 

"It's nothing, Alex. Goodnight." 

 

Alex reaches out and grabs her arms before she can go anywhere. Alex. He wanted to know what was wrong. 

 

Somehow that only stokes the feeling inside her, because how could he not know? Was it only her? Was she just so stupid to think whatever they had was actually...special? 

 

"Elizabeth Schuyler. What's got your panties in a bunch?" 

 

She jerks her arms out of his.  

 

"Sexist, Alex. And nothing. Can we please go to bed?" 

 

He shakes his head. He's so frustrating. 

 

And she knows Alex. He won’t give up. He will keep asking and asking, and maybe it’s better to just get this out now.

 

"Angie," she presses out. 

 

His brow furrows in confusion. "Your sister? What about her?"

 

She waves her hand between them. "You and her." 

 

"Me and her.” He looks wholly confused for a moment, before recognition dawns in his eyes. “Schuyler, you think I'm interested in your sister?" 

 

His hands, before uselessly fluttering, come to rest at her waist. It sends a traitorous shiver through her that she hopes he doesn't feel. 

 

"I mean, it makes sense. She's just like you. She's smart, beautiful..." 

 

"You're smart and beautiful." It's like he doesn't even think about it. Like he doesn’t even know how the words make her stomach twist.

 

She’s lost for what to say for a moment, the words hanging between them.

 

_You’re smart and beautiful._

 

Alex shifts closer to her. He’s warm, so warm and familiar. She feels the knot of angerandmaybesomethingelse release in her stomach.

 

_Eliza never told me her sisters were so gorgeous._

He said that. He wants her sister. But he’s being so nice, so un-Alex, and it’s hurting her worse than if he’d just be honest.

 

“Schuyler, I’m not interested in your sister.”

 

“And she….wait. You’re not?”

 

He shakes his head, a smirk playing at his lips. His thumbs move, just a tiny bit, to rub her hips and what is he doing, why is he doing this to her?

 

“But…I thought…”

 

“No. Your sister is beautiful and smart, like you said, yes, but she’s not…”

 

And here’s the thing. Eliza has been, both literally and figuratively, second to her sister her entire life. There has never been anyone who would prefer her to beautiful, confident, witty Angelica, so why Alex would choose her is a complete mystery.

 

“She’s not what?”

 

Her voice is a tiny tremble, and Alex’s lips form an actual smile. A real, genuine, handsome smile that she can only see clearly because, as she is just now realizing, their faces are very close together. Like, closer than they have ever been.

 

“She’s not you. Eliza, she’s not _you_.”

 

He breathes out her name on an exhale, like a prayer. Her heart pounds wildly in her chest, and the words tumble out before she can stop them.

 

“You called me Eliza.”

 

His smile focuses on her as he brings a hand up to cup her cheek. “Uh huh.”

 

And then there is no more space between them.

 

The kiss is soft. Gentle and tentative, not like before.

 

Because sure, they've kissed before. They're fake married, they kissed at their "wedding", they have the awkward photos Herc and Laf gleefully took to prove it.

 

But the thing is, this feels like the most profoundly honest either of them has ever been. 

 

Alex presses into Eliza gently, his tongue probing her lips, his fingers weaving into her hair.

 

And it feels…no. No, it doesn’t _feel_ real.

 

It _is_ real.

 

In the most backwards of circumstances, Eliza feels herself starting to fall in love with her husband.

 

**Trusting desire, starting to learn**   
**Walking through fire without a burn**   
**Clinging a shoulder a leap begins**   
**Stinging and older, asleep on pins**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Overabundance of I Should Tell You, I realize, but can’t help it. It’s literally the perfect song for this chapter.


	9. stars come out (and sing with each heartbeat)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Eliza, you’re wearing the same look on your face that he has on his.” 
> 
> “What look?” 
> 
> “I don’t know. Stupid happiness, I guess. It’s a bit less foreign on you than it is on Alex.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DON’T SHOOT I HAVE AN EXCUSE!   
> My family is here and I’m without wifi a lot of the time, so this took forever. Also it’s fluffy, so very fluffy, and I’m terrible at fluff so I hope it suffices! 
> 
> Also thank you to all you lovely Hamliza fans! I don’t see many in the fandom, and as much as I love Lams, I will hold down the Hamliza fic fort by myself if I must, so much do I love them! 
> 
> Chapter title and first quote comes from Constellation Street by Hadley Fraser/Sheytoons, which I highly remind checking out.

**If you and I can truly be**

**Together now as one**

**I’ll do his job for nothing**

**Till I’m older than the sun**

 

 

The guys find Eliza 24 hours later.

 

“What did you do to Alex?!” Herc cries, seizing her by the arms.

 

“…nothing?”

 

“Oh no, you must have done something. He hugged me today. _Hugged_ me. And he hasn’t stopped smiling the entire day. Alex is _smiling and hugging people,_ Eliza, and he looks…oh my god.”

 

“What?” she asks defensively.

 

Lafayette leans in and inspects Eliza closely.

 

“You hooked up!”

 

“What?” she sputters. “We didn’t hook up, Laf!”

 

“Eliza, you’re wearing the same look on your face that he has on his.”

 

“What look?”

 

“I don’t know. Stupid happiness, I guess. It’s a bit less foreign on you than it is on Alex.”

 

Laf leans in and pokes her cheeks, and she catches a glimpse of John behind him.

 

Now, Eliza doesn’t count herself as a particularly observant person. No more so than any other person, really. But John is her best friend, and she knows him better than anyone.

 

And he looks…. different.

 

His smile doesn’t look like the warm, goofy grin she knows so well, the same one that Laf and Herc sport.

 

He looks tense, and almost unhappy.

 

She shakes herself free of Laf, and takes his hand.

 

“You okay, Laurens?” she whispers.

 

“I’m…really happy for you guys, Eliza.” John says, and she’s definitely not imagining it now.

 

His words, his smile, his relaxed posture, it’s all tense.

 

“John, what…”

 

“I have to go.” And he’s gone before she can get another word out.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s almost like it was before, but now they lie in her bed and kiss, all roaming hands and questing lips.

 

Kissing Alex is like nothing else Eliza has ever experienced. It feels both new and like they’ve been doing this forever, and a bit like they should have been doing this the whole time.

 

He’s different than she though. Gentler, sweeter, but he’s still Alex. He still calls her “Schuyler” more than using her name, still volleys insults at her, still makes like her presence is such an imposition to him.

 

She’s grateful, actually. That’s Alex, to her. Things changed, but still they stayed the same. This thing that they’d fallen into, whatever it was, is comforting. Kissing Alex feels like something she could spend years doing.

 

And in the true theme of Alex and Eliza, they don’t talk about it. They just fall into bed together at the end of each day, and Eliza doesn’t tell Alex that seeing him in her bed waiting for her, reaching for her, makes her belly clench in a way she can’t quite define.

 

It’s a bit ironic, really. Alex is known for being good with words. His entire living is made with being good with words (to a fault). But he’s offered her nothing.

 

His words still play in her head, over and over.

 

_You’re beautiful and smart. She’s not you, Eliza._

 

She is becoming a version of herself that Eliza does not recognize.

 

She thinks about Alex all the time. In class, at placement, all the time. It’s actually rather annoying. And when she thinks about Alex; she thinks about kissing Alex. Maybe more than kissing him. And that, for reasons that are unknown but entirely annoying, makes her smile no matter what she’s doing at the time. She can imagine Alex’s self-satisfied smirk so well, so she vows to never tell him.

 

But even Martha comments on how happy she seems.

 

“Is it the young man?” she grins.

 

Eliza says nothing but that stupid grin, the one she’d imagine Herc and Laf were talking about, gives it away.

 

* * *

 

 

She invites John over for takeout. That was their thing, always had been. They pick the most ridiculous-sounding thing on the menu, order it, and talk while they eat. He’s her best friend, the best friend she’s ever had, and she’s eternally grateful for him.

 

But today…today he’s different. His gaze swings around the apartment, looking for something, he refuses to settle onto her bed with her, and he insists on leaving at nine when he’d ordinarily sleep over.

 

It’s slightly hurtful, but he tells her his classes are just killing him with assignments, and it’s exam time, and John has never lied to her before, so she believes him.

 

* * *

 

 

“Eliza, I’m so proud of you.”

 

Those words fill Eliza with a shudder that has nothing to do with the stone walls of the prison visiting room.

 

Which is odd, because he’s her father. She should want him to be proud of her. But she doesn’t. Somehow, earning his approval feels wrong, especially when it’s not for getting through college or earning a teaching position.

 

No, it’s for conning a man into marrying her.

 

And he tells her that she’s learned so much, that she’s not done, that she has to lay the groundwork, to get him to make a lasting commitment, and all of it feels very suspicious, something not at all related to the glass plate that separates them.

 

When she pours her worries out to her sisters, they are sympathetic, but that’s really all they can be. Eliza is now the focus of Philip Schuyler’s attention, for being the most like him.

 

And _that_ ….that is what kills her the most.

 

Alex, he was supposed to be a means to an end.

 

And while she doesn’t know what he is to her, what they are to each other now, he is not a means to an end.

 

He’s….he’s her husband.

 

Her husband who tries so hard to make her dinner that she comes home to a smoke filled apartment and Alex beaming.

 

Her husband who has started leaving a few things of his in her room.

 

Her husband who stops work early for her.

 

Her husband who walks her students home just so they feel cared for.

 

So even after Eliza leaves the prison, after her father has been hauled back in chains, his words still haunt her.

 

_Eliza, this marriage thing, it’s good, but it’s not enough. I’ve read up on his parents.. They have money, Eliza, enough money to buy you houses and cars and all the things you’ve ever wanted. You need to think about this. You need a bigger commitment out of this boy. A lifetime commitment._

Like she said, the words fill her with a shudder, and she forces both that and the words out of her mouth as she slides her key into the lock.

 

Alex isn’t in the kitchen, nor is he in his room when she checks. Figuring he stayed late at the library or maybe he’s working, she heads toward her room. He’ll be home later, and he’ll find her then.

 

She truly doesn’t expect him to be sitting behind her closed door, and when she rams the door into something solid and hears a yelp, she jumps three feet in the air.

 

“Jesus Christ, Alex! What the hell are you doing there?”

 

He shrugs, a flush rising on his cheeks. “Waiting.”

 

“You are aware that you have a room and we have a couch, right?”

 

He shrugs, toeing at the carpeted floor.

 

“I wanted to be here when you got home.”

 

Her belly clenches again, and she feels warmth rushing through her. She lays her bag down on the desk and goes to fetch her laptop.

 

“You want to watch something? I think they added a new season of The Big Bang Theory online.”

 

His cheeks are still red as he shakes his head and grabs for her hand. His fingers close around hers and he gives a gentle tug, leading her to sit on the bed with him.

 

He reaches down into his jeans pocket and produces a small box.

 

“Alex…”

 

“I got something for you.”  


He opens the box to reveal a sparking gold necklace, with a delicately carved “E” in the middle.

 

She’s stunned. It’s easily the most expensive thing she’s ever gotten, and the gesture is so sweet and unexpected that her eyes well instantly.

 

He notices instantly, and snaps the box shut. “Oh crap, don’t cry. I can’t deal with girls crying.”

 

“Human emotions _are_ beyond your emotional capabilities, I remember.”

 

The remark makes him smile, which makes her smile in turn. He opens the box again and she inspects the necklace. It’s beautiful, simple and pretty.

 

“Alex…why did you get this for me?”

 

He glances down, fingers playing with the bedspread. When he lifts face, her eyes bore into hers and it’s the most intense expression she’s ever seen on him.

 

“I thought that….if I got you something…it might be easier to…”

 

He breaks off, still staring at her. She squeezes his hand reassuringly.

 

He takes a deep breaths, seems to steal himself.

 

“The necklace is…it’s to show you. To tell you.”

 

“Tell me what?” she breathes softly.

 

“That…this, whatever we have, I know how it started but…but I like you, Eliza. I really like you. I never really had someone to come home to, you know? And I was always kind of fine with being alone, and then you came tearing into my life, and I’m just…”

 

He breaks off, and lifts a hand to her cheek, rubbing his thumb over her cheekbone.

 

“I’m just really glad you’re my wife.”

 

_He’s your husband._

Eliza is filled, entirely bursting with a feeling she has never experienced before. She meets Alex’s nervous gaze, stares into the searching brown eyes of her husband, and suddenly everything’s different.

 

Suddenly, he’s hers forever and she’s in love with him.

 

He helps her put the necklace on, breathing a soft kiss against her neck. She turns her head to meet his, and his eyes are as soft as she’s ever seen them.

 

They kiss, and this time they don’t stop.

 

 

* * *

 

 

She still thinks about that day, that one perfect memory, months later, as she sits on a riverbank in upstate New York, sweater wet with tears.

 

**It’s like waiting for rain**

**As I stand in the desert**

**But I’m holding you closer than most**

**‘Cause you are my heaven**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know why my deal is with John Laurens, why do I love torturing him. 
> 
> aLSo ITS SO FLUFFY WHY
> 
> This story should likely only be about 4 more chapters. Thank you so much to all of you for reading and commenting, this is one of my first plot and dialogue heavy stories so the support is so appreciated!


	10. all we need is hope (and for that we have each other)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They make the journey to Alex’s parents in silence. Alex is so tense, she fears he may jump out of his skin. 
> 
> Eliza can’t quite believe she’s here, that they’re doing this. It’s the culmination of months of mysterious phone calls, in the great unknown that surrounds Alex and his parents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> …..okay but I come back bearing a 3k chapter! Long by my standards! Thank you all for waiting. No, this story is not abandoned, it actually only has about 3 chapters left, but I have a life (upon occasion), a job and I’m terminally lazy. However, so many of you want me to finish this! I got an unprecedented number of comments on the last chapter, asking me to finish. This is a big chapter, and I hope you find it to your satisfaction! 
> 
> Oh and also, I really do tell my students that Q and U are married. I have known many teachers to stage a QU wedding.

_I don’t want to waste the weekend_

_If you don’t love me, pretend_

 

 

_ January _

A new year, a new start. That was what everyone else said, anyway. Eliza had never put much stock in that. A new day, a new year, none of that historically meant anything changed. Her father drank and gambled just as much on January 1st as he did on December 31st. They were just as broke at the end of December as they were in early January.

 

But this year felt different.

 

For one thing, Alex had woken her up with warm kisses pressed to her sternum, his brown eyes sleepy and soft. Their bed ( _theirs_ ) was warm and safe and Eliza’s eyes drifted closed again, to be met with Alex’s hands cupping her face and retorting “sloth is not a good look on a woman of your rapidly advancing years, Schuyler.” With a scoff, she shoved him hard and him sailing clean off the bed. He comes up with a smirk and it’s actually the most adorable thing she’s ever seen.

 

She visits her father that day, because he’s still family. He’s still some version of a parent.

 

(He tells her the same thing he tells her every time. _You need to work this connection more. You need more out of this boy. Don’t get me wrong, I’m proud of you, Eliza. I wish your sisters had thought of this, but you need more. Marriage is not always forever.)_

It still leaves her with chills and a terrible voice niggling at the back of her mind.

 

 

_ February _

__

Alex gets a letter of Cease and Desist from John Adams. He is so very proud. ( _He notices me, Eliza! He’s read my letters!)_ He takes Eliza out for dinner at the fanciest restaurant he can find.

 

They smuggle bread rolls into a monogrammed napkin and debate how to sneak them out. Eliza only has a clutch purse, Alex didn’t bring a bag. They debate for a good ten minutes on how to properly pilfer the bread rolls they don’t need, until Alex’s eyes light with an idea.

 

“ _Eliza,”_ he hisses. “ _You were wearing a coat when you got here.”_

She frowns. _“So?”_

 

He rolls the napkin into a rounded shape, thrusts it at her. “ _Quick. Put this under your dress._ ”

 

She looks at him like he’s certifiably insane. “ _Alex, that’ll never work.”_

_“The waitress told us we were a sweet family, Eliza. They’ll totally buy it. Do it.”_

_“No way.”_

_“_ Do it!”

_“No!”_

_“Do it, and I’ll show you the picture of me at the renaissance fair.”_

Eliza Schuyler ( _Hamilton)_ is no fool. She knows a good opportunity when she sees it.

 

Eliza glances around her and quickly shoves the cloth under her dress, settling it against her belly and arranging it into a circle-like shape.

 

Alex’s grin spreads, and he stands and bows with a flourish. Eliza takes his offered hand and stands with fake effort, hand on her belly. The waitress comes back as Alex helps her into her coat.

 

“How sweet,” she smiles. “When are you due?”

 

“May.”

 

It’s out before she realizes it.

 

“How lovely. You two will be great parents. I can tell.”

 

Alex thanks her politely, and they make their exit at a fast pace, Eliza leaning into Alex and giggling.

 

The first bread roll falls out as they get to the car, but she’s fairly certain nobody sees it, and that stupid voice at the back of her mind just won’t shut up.

 

__

_ March _

__

It’s Falcon’s birthday, and Eliza knows he has nobody to celebrate it with. He offers her half of his orange that his sister Athena stole as a birthday gift, complete with a note that reads “Hpee bitday”.

 

She feels tears prick her eyes and texts Alex, Laurens, Laf and Herc immediately.

 

They pick the boy up (literally, Herc lifts him onto his shoulders) after school, along with his sister and take him to a children’s play place. They feed the children as much junk as they can eat, Laurens wins Falcon and Athena an armful of toys each, and the sparkle in the boy’s eyes isn’t something Eliza will soon forget.

 

Their grandfather is passed out drunk when they take the children home and tuck them into bed.

 

Alex brushes the boy’s hair out of his eyes gently, and Eliza watches with a twisting in her stomach.

 

_ April _

 

Eliza teaches her students about the letters Q and U and how they are almost always together. They’re married, she explains.

 

“Like you and Mr. Alex,” one of her students puts in helpfully.

 

Yes, she nods.

 

The children are curious, quickly concocting a fictional narrative about the legendary love of Q and U, and propose they have their own wedding for the letters.

 

Eliza looks at their bright faces and can’t say no.

 

Especially when she knows two people who deserve a little embarrassment for all that they have caused her and Alex.

 

They clear it with the principal and Martha, and Eliza tells Herc and Laf they are coming in to read a story to the children.

 

As soon as they come in, the children pounce. Herc is soon festooned in a cobbled together dress and a crown ( _he’s Q for Queen, Ms. Schuyler!)_ and Laf in what can only be described as a cowboy outfit, with a laminated ukulele in his hands. They set out the carpets to form an aisle, cut weeds from the playground, and force Laf and Herc to kiss as the child ordaining them looks on sternly. Alex and Eliza nearly keel over laughing, and take many photos.

 

(And create their own Pinterest board, titled _Q/U = Lerc, together forever (payback’s a bitch)_ )

 

_ May _

__

They make the journey to Alex’s parents in silence. Alex is so tense, she fears he may jump out of his skin.

 

Eliza can’t quite believe she’s here, that they’re doing this. It’s the culmination of months of mysterious phone calls, in the great unknown that surrounds Alex and his parents.

 

 _Because it’ll piss my parents off_.

 

That was why he had married her in the first place, and Eliza couldn’t help but think the vast majority of those phone calls were about her.

 

During each, Alex yells louder. And after each, he comes back into their room looking increasingly ashen and tense.

 

In the beginning, she had soothed it away with gentle kisses, playful jibes and sometimes, even by pulling Alex down to their bed and shedding their clothing. But lately, nothing had been working. For hours after he had talked to his parents, Alex wasn’t…there. Yes, he was physically there with her, but his mind was somewhere else entirely.

 

And after months of these phone calls, he had bit out that he was going away for the weekend to visit his parents. He looked so apprehensive, so sad, that the decision was made in an instant.

 

On Friday, she had plunked her bag down next to his raggedy backpack.

 

He had looked at her, face lined in confusion.

 

“No husband of mine goes into the lion’s den alone,” was all she had said, and for once, words had failed Alexander Hamilton.

 

But the tight hug he gave her, the exhalation as his face pressed into her neck, that was better than any words could have been.

 

**(~~)**

 

The moment they step out of the car, the tension is so palpable Eliza actually shudders.

 

Rachael Hamilton is a stately, severe looking woman with brown hair and Alex’s wide eyes.

 

Her husband is older, more portly, with a permanently sour expression.

 

Alex is a medley of the two. His mother’s eyes, his father’s dark hair. His mother’s posture, his father’s softer features.

 

Their resemblance seems to stop at physical, however.

 

“Alexander,” Rachael greets her son, a stiff, almost harsh sound.

 

“Mother.” The words are pressed out, Alex’s jaw so tense Eliza is shocked he still has teeth.

 

Rachael tries to hug Alex and he accepts it briefly but doesn’t reciprocate.

They both look at Eliza, eyes travelling up and down, but say nothing.

  
Alex, however, grasps her hand and turns to his parents.

 

“Mom, Dad, this is Eliza. My wife.”

 

Like the party, his voice carries a mark of pride that warms her inside.

 

The Hamiltons nod at her in what they probably perceive to be a polite manner, but say nothing.

 

Alex actually looks disappointed at this, and she can see him screaming internally for them to say something, recognizes the signs of Alexander Hamilton raring to fight, but his parents refuse to instigate.

 

Maids show them to their room for the night, and the Hamiltons retire without ever greeting her by name.

 

**(~~)**

 

She doesn’t have to wait long, however.

 

They don’t make it two hours into the morning until the first conflict.

 

The next one comes 45 minutes after.

 

The third, an hour later.

 

Not in the room for the first three, Eliza doesn’t even know what they are arguing over, but she catches snatches of conversation, and words like “money”, “inheritance”, and oddly “Aaron Burr”. He comes up a lot in arguments. She hears Jefferson’s name once, and then Alex’s explosive yell after it.

 

He barely speaks to her after, but she sticks to his side, promising herself that the next time, she’ll be there. She’ll protect him. It seems an odd thing, her protecting Alex, but she hates the look on his face, hates his general persona in this cold place.

 

She doesn’t have to wait long.

 

They seem to argue every half hour, and the next conflict pops up over forced conversation at lunch.

 

“So Eliza,” Rachael begins, making Eliza head snap up at being actually referred to by name.

 

“Have you found life…comfortable, since your marriage?”  


It’s bait and she refuses to take it. She lays a hand on Alex’s leg and nods politely.

 

“Very much, ma’am. Alex has been taking good care of me. “

 

“Yes, I’d imagine he is.”

 

Eliza rubs her thumb over Alex’s knee, a silent signal to calm down, not that that has ever worked before.

 

“He has told me so very little about you, Eliza. Tell me about yourself. What’s your family like?”

 

“I’m very close to my sisters,” she replies shortly.

 

“Yes,” James Hamilton picks up for his wife. “That’s good to know. And your father?”

 

They know, they clearly know, but Eliza will not break. She will not give them the satisfaction.

 

“He’s made some mistakes, but he was a good father.”

 

“Yes, there are many of those in prison,” James mutters under his breath.

 

She tenses, but does not break. Alex, however, has curled his hands into fists. She wonders how it is that his parents get to him so easily, but thinks of her own father, and realizes she does understand.

 

_Just get me out of here, Eliza. I’ll fix it, I promise._

There’s a pause before James finally feels bold enough to continue.

 

“What was his sentence, then? Ten years? I’d imagine you were not in good financial straights.”

 

“I got by.”

 

“With the help of my son, it seems.”

 

“Mother – “ Alex starts, but she speaks over him smoothly.

 

“He’s helped, yes. I also work, and I’m in school.”

 

“How very nice.” They seem determined to instigate, and Eliza isn’t sure how much longer she can hold Alex back.

 

“But school is expensive. Exactly how much is my son helping you with that? You do have to admit, it was awfully…convenient that you happened to marry at just the right time.

 

“Shut up!” Alex’s voice cuts through the tension.

 

“Don’t you dare talk to me like that, Alexander,” and just like that, another fight.

 

The maids seem to recognize the signs immediately. They try to usher Eliza out of the room but she refuses to be taken.

 

They’re in this together.

 

“Don’t talk about Eliza like that,” Alex hisses.

 

“She’s the daughter of a felon,” his mother sniffs.

 

“She’s my wife,” Alex barks, and it fills her with warmth.

 

“But for how long, Alexander? You never thought this through, just like so many things. She is after one thing, and you know it.”

 

“You don’t even _know_ her.”

 

“I know enough.”

 

“No, you know _nothing_. Eliza loves me. We’re in love.”

 

“Is that what she told you? For how long, Alexander?” His father steps into Alex’s personal space and Eliza goes to press herself against him.

 

“How long until she gets what she wants, and then disappears? Why, I’m not surprised she hasn’t gotten pregnant yet, committed you to eighteen more years of sucking money from you.”

 

“Shut _up!”_ Alex’s voice is bordering on a wail. “You know nothing about me, you know nothing about her! You never have!”

  

“We _warned_ you about this when you moved to New York City, Alexander. We thought you were smarter. We even connected you with that Aaron Burr, hoping you might learn from him.”

 

“Aaron Burr is a human Birkenstock,” Alex grumbles. “He paid forty bucks for a coconut once. Not surprised that’s’ who you want me to be like.”

 

His father circles closer, the glint in his eyes reminding Eliza of a tiger circling their prey.

 

“At least,” his father snarls, leaning down into Alex’s face. “Aaron Burr is not a _murderer_.”

 

The reaction is instantaneous; Eliza would have caught it even if she weren’t staring at Alex the whole time.

 

His face blanches of color, his whole posture drops, and in that moment, he looks more like a terrified six year old than any of Eliza’s students have ever.

 

The Alex she knows lives to argue, lives to be right.

 

The Alex she knows lives to fight.

 

This doesn’t look anything like the Alex she knows.

 

This Alex’s eyes fill with tears and he turns and flees without a word.

 

She follows without thinking.

 

He’s her husband.

 

His pain is her pain, and pain screams from every ounce of his being.

 

**(~~)**

 

He runs and she can barely keep up.

 

She stumbles over a few roots as he winds deeper into the woods behind the Hamilton estate, and she loses sight of him for a moment.

 

She only finds him again when she hears footfalls and the gurgling sound of water. He’s sitting by a shallow stream, his head in his hands.

 

It’s a beautiful expanse, willow branches hanging low, stream gurgling in the background.

 

Alex sits on the edge, his entire posture screaming defeat, grief radiating from every pore.

 

She tries to take his hand but he pulls himself away.

 

“Don’t,” he rasps. “Don’t touch me. Don’t come near me, Eliza. Just leave.”

 

“Alex,” she breathes. “Look at you. You’re shaking. I’m not leaving. I want to help, just let me help.”

 

“You can’t,” he sniffles. “You can’t fix this. You can’t fix what I did.”

 

She lifts a hand tentatively to his hair and strokes the long black strands back.

 

“Alex, it’s time. Don’t keep this from me anymore. Why did your dad say you killed someone?

 

He takes a deep breath.

 

“Because I did.”

 

It’s certainly not the answer she expects. As brash and abrasive as Alex is, he’s also gentle and pacifistic. To imagine him hurting someone, let alone killing someone, borders on impossible.

 

“Who?” Eliza breathes softly.

 

“My brother. James.”

 

His brother. Eliza hadn’t even known he had a brother.

 

Her mind flashes back to that day in Alex’s room, the picture of the little boy. He had looked like Alex. It clicks in her mind; that was James.

 

She inches closer and lays a hand on his arm.

 

“Alex,” she whispers. “What happened to James?”

 

“James and I were who each other had, through all of our parents’ shit. I practically raised him. I changed his diapers. I held him when he cried. I took him to school. He was _my_ responsibility.”

 

He looks at Eliza as if he is trying to tell her something, but she has no idea what.

 

He pauses for long moments before continuing.

 

“I was twelve. James was eight. That day, he came into my room and asked me to play at our spot, by the river.”

 

Alex swings his arm around to indicate where they are.

 

“I had just gotten back from school, my mother was already giving me shit, I was tired…I told him no. But he just kept asking, and asking, and asking. So finally I agreed.”

 

Alex’s eyes shine with tears.

 

“I took him, but I wasn’t there. I was lying down. Not looking at him, not paying attention even though he was _my_ responsibility, Eliza. It was my job.”

 

He breaks off, and tears begin spilling down his cheeks, the first time she has seen him cry.

 

She looks at her husband and tries to imagine the cold, sarcastic Alex of only a few months ago, in the early days of their marriage. She can’t find him anywhere.

 

That was _Hamilton_ , she guesses. She sees only _Alex._

 

“What happened, love?” she whispers, the term of endearment slipping out without her meaning it to.

 

Alex is silent, and she thinks for a moment that he won’t say. He’s already shared more than he ever has.

 

“He hit his head.”

 

The words are a low mumble.

 

“He hit his head on a branch. My eyes were closed, I didn’t see. I didn’t _see_ , Eliza, and then he fell in. He fell in, and by the time I saw, he was under the water. And I tried, Eliza, I tried so hard to get him out, but I couldn’t. I wasn’t there on time. And I was yelling, and nobody came and….”

 

Alex is openly sobbing now, the same look in his eyes that she saw after Falcon fell into the water.

 

He’s gone, lost to his past.

 

“I tried, Eliza, but he wasn’t breathing and by the time the ambulance came they….they couldn’t do anything.”

 

His shoulders shake and she scoots closer, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, her heart breaking with his.

 

“No!” he shouts, heaving out of her embrace.

 

“No, I _killed_ him! I killed my brother! It was my job, and if I had just…I tried Eliza, but I couldn’t….I killed him…but I’m sorry, Eliza, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, I tried, I didn’t mean to…”

 

His breath comes in gasping sobs, his shoulders heaving, and she waits no longer before pulling his head to her chest and wrapping him in an embrace, filled with words of comfort, ready to tell him again and again that it wasn’t him, it wasn’t his fault, he was not responsible for this, but that isn’t what he needs now.

 

“I’m sorry, James. Oh god, oh god, I’m so sorry, so sorry…”

 

“Shh,” she soothes, carding her fingers through sweaty hair. “It’s okay. I forgive you. Alex, I forgive you. It’s okay Alex, I forgive you.”

 

That’s what it takes, in the end. He comes apart completely in her arms, shaking with sobs, stuttering out apologies, wailing out his pain for what feels like hours.

 

Eventually, his sobs finally calm to hiccups and he reluctantly disentangles himself.

 

He looks at her, eyes shining with tears, as if she is all that’s tethering him to the world.

 

“We’re real, Eliza, right? This is…this is never going to go away, right?”

 

Her stomach knots painfully, for a medley of reasons.

 

_You need a lifetime commitment out of the boy._

But Alex looks so plaintive, so heartbroken. Eliza strokes his damp hair back from his eyes and kisses him gently.

 

“Never, Alex. We’re real. I’m not going anywhere.”

 

**(~~)**

She supposes she means it all the more a week later, when result on the stick lying on her shaking leg reads “positive.”

 

 

_There’s a blaze of light in every word_

_It doesn’t matter what you heard_


	11. and all i've got left is rubble and dust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She tells herself she didn’t really plan it, per se. At least, there was no period tracking involved, no active scheming, no real effort on her part to ensure this happened.
> 
> (But then there is also a wheel of birth control pills that had made the trash their home three weeks ago and her father’s voice ringing in her head and next year’s tuition amount in her email and the thought that maybe she did need this.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longer wait = shorter chapters it seems. There’s only 2 left of this thing!!   
> Also, I want to take a moment to thank everyone who comments, bookmarks and alerts this story so much. You are the reason it’s kept going so long!

_You know, I think the hardest part_

_Is knowing that you loved me first_

_Before I even saw you_

_Or made sense of us_

 

**(~~)**

 

She finds out Thursday, which is followed by the tensest weekend one could ever imagine.

 

She has to tell him, she knows.

  
He’s been clinging to her, in the wake of the visit to his parents. He held her hand all the way back to the house, and she packed their things and told his parents they were leaving.

 

Eliza removed her husband from that house and never plans to make him go back. It took Alex days to even crack a smile. He holds her tightly at night, buries his face in her neck and she knows his nightmares are filled with James.

 

But it feels like they shared something, something profound.

 

She hints at the story of James around the boys, but nobody seems to know anything. Laurens doesn’t even know anything.

 

And this….this could make him so happy, or it could break him. And if it breaks him, it’ll break _them_.

 

Because what if he doesn’t want a baby? What if he wises up to whatever this is and realizes he could do so much better? What if this makes him revert to the Alex she once knew, the one she married?

 

**(~~)**

 

 

She tells herself she didn’t really _plan_ it, per se. At least, there was no period tracking involved, no active scheming, no real effort on her part to ensure this happened.

 

(But then there is also a wheel of birth control pills that had made the trash their home three weeks ago and her father’s voice ringing in her head and next year’s tuition amount in her email and the thought that maybe she did need this.)

 

(And then there is the actual words “I’ll do it, you’re right” that she said to her father.)

 

**(~~)**

 

She tells him.

  
She has to.

 

She shows him the test and she says the actual words and at least she’s proud of that.

 

“Alex, I’m pregnant.”

 

The words fill the silence for so long she’s not sure he even heard her.

 

And then his face breaks into the biggest smile she’s ever seen and he picks her up and swings her around and he is so happy.

 

“I’m going to be so good, Eliza, you’ll see, this is going to be so good, you and me and this baby forever, I love you, I love you so much.”

 

It’s everything she hoped for, and everything she doesn’t deserve.

 

**(~~)**

 

 

He treats her like glass for weeks, like she could shatter at any moment, until she finally cracks and protests that a wooden spoon is absolutely not too heavy for her to be carrying and that women have been having babies for thousands of years and back off, he’s smothering her.

 

(He lets her cook dinner that night, and looks a bit terrified of her for awhile after).

 

They resolve not to tell anyone so early.

 

Alex drags his fingers over her flat belly, a thrilled expression on his face.

 

“Our little secret,” he says.

 

(It was her secret first. She wishes it was the only secret).

 

 

**(~~)**

 

It’s ridiculously hard for her to fathom that there’s a baby inside her. Like, a tiny combination of her and Alex is living inside of her.

 

(Oh god, the world is not ready).

 

Alex goes to the first sonogram with her and tears up.

 

She hugs him and he whispers something into her neck that sounds like “I know we didn’t plan this to happen so soon but I’m just…so _happy_ , Eliza.”

 

He asks for a copy of the sonogram and puts it straight in his wallet.

 

(She catches him staring at it many times).

 

He browses crib websites as they lie in bed at night, picks up a copy of What To Expect When You’re Expecting and reads it cover to cover at least six times.

 

She refuses to, and he objects at first, but then discovers her lack of pregnancy knowledge is really to his advantage.

 

(“Hey Eliza, did you know that during pregnancy your extremities will swell to 3-5 times their normal size and never go back?”)

 

That lasts only a week before she finally grabs the book from him in a huff and sits down to read, ignoring the smug grin on his face.

 

**(~~)**

 

 

Eliza is going to have some serious words with whoever called it morning sickness. If it were just the morning, it would be remotely tolerable.

 

No, a more accurate name would probably be all damn day sickness, because it is. She’s sick in the mornings, afternoons and evenings, and well into the night.

 

Her weight plummets rapidly because nothing sounds appealing.

 

Alex begs her to eat and promises her anything she could possibly want as he traces the outline of her ribs.

 

(“I mean it, Eliza. You could tell me you want some cassava; I’ll be on the next plane to Africa. I’ll do it.”)

 

**(~~)**

 

 

John meets her for their weekly coffee (well, tea now), and it’s still awkward. In fact, it’s awkward for many weeks, and Eliza is faced with a choice. Sit him down and force him to talk, or lose her best friend.

 

The second option is absolutely not an option, so she corners him one day and forces him onto her bed, locking the door behind her.

 

He says nothing, which feels like a personal failure. She cups his face in her hands.

 

“John,” she whispers. “What is _wrong_? Whatever it is, I’ll fix it. But this…this isn’t working. And I don’t want to make this all about me, but you can’t shun a pregnant girl. We are working on already fragile emotions here.”

 

His eyes widen to an almost comical degree.

 

“You’re pregnant?”

 

She grins sheepishly. “Not exactly how I wanted to tell you, but, surprise, I guess?”

 

His gaze flits to her belly, then back to her eyes. “And Alex is…?”

 

She pulls back. “Of course, John. How could you even think that…”

 

He shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t see you guys together much.”

 

A tiny spark of anger flares in her. “Well, in order to see us together, you’d have to talk to either of us.”

 

“I’ve been busy.”

 

“That’s a cop out and you know it.”

 

Eliza sighs, digging a fingernail into her palm. “What’s going on, John? This isn’t you, and…I miss you. Please, did I do something?”

 

“No,” he mumbles.

 

“Then what is…”

 

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

 

(She imagines later that John probably meant to mutter the words under his breath.)

 

“Like what, John?”

 

He sighs, defensive posture deflating, and for a moment, she catches a glimpse of her best friend.

 

“You weren’t supposed to fall for him.”

 

The words are meek, whispered, but Eliza knows who he’s referring to.

 

“I wasn’t supposed to…John, you set us up! You pushed us to get married, it was your idea!”

 

“For a convenience marriage, Eliza! Not…not this!”

 

“ _This?_ ”

 

“Yes, this! This…thing you and Alex have, it’s not meaningless anymore. There’s feelings now, anyone can see it. And if I had known, I would have never…” He breaks off, digging a finger into the bedspread.

 

“I thought it would close him off to falling in love for good, and then I’d never have to worry about him…falling for someone else.”

 

It hits her all at once, like a freight train.

  
“John…John, you and Alex…”

 

“No! No, I mean…we never. But I guess, somewhere deep down, I always hoped we would.”

 

She’s stunned, absolutely speechless. John had never given any indication that he felt that way about Alex.

 

She doesn’t imagine it’s hard to fall for Alex, though. She herself knows how easy it. Her chest aches at the thought of her best friend carrying this inside him for so many months.

 

But Alex…as selfish as it sounds, Alex is _hers_. She’s in love with him. He’s her husband. Giving him up seems almost as unfathomable as giving John up.

 

“John, I…I don’t want to choose between you two.”

 

He gives a wry chuckle.

  
“I’m not asking you to, Eliza. But I just…can’t be around either of you right now.”

 

And with that, he lets himself out.

 

**(~~)**

 

Alex raps to her belly. She finds out when she wakes up with a start one night, to find her husband draped over her belly, rapping Tupac lyrics to their unborn child.

 

“This kid will know the good stuff, Eliza,” is his slightly red-eared explanation. “And I couldn’t sleep.”

 

She later finds out he does it on a near nightly basis, and it’s not always rap. Sometimes it’s show tunes, sometimes it’s indie, and sometimes it’s top 40 pop.

 

(She draws the line there. “Our child will not be listening to Taylor Swift, Alex.”)

 

**(~~)**

 

 

Her belly grows.

 

(And so does her guilt).

 

She swears Alex memorizes her body in the first two months. He seems to scrutinize her every day for signs of her belly growing, for tangible proof that the two of them had created something new.

 

She marvels at the fact that this Alex, the sweet, kind, caring Alex is who Alexander Hamilton really is. Under all the hostility and shitty childhood and slanderous letters to congress, Alex is gentle and loving. It simmers under the walls he has built around himself, and the fact that he has let her in seems an incredible honor.

 

**(~~)**

 

 

The guilt becomes somewhat of a constant companion. Eliza tries so hard to enjoy where she is now, to enjoy her life, but that voice, the one that tells her “he wouldn’t be here if he knew”, that voice taints every innocent moment of her pregnancy. Every time Alex does something absurdly sweet, like painting a wall white so they can keep track of Eliza’s belly as it grows, every time he insists on carrying her when she’s tired, every time he gives her that look of complete adoration, she hears it.

 

_He wouldn’t be doing this if he knew. You’re like your father. In fact, you’re no better than him._

**(~~)**

Speaking of the offending parent, Alex insists on coming with her to tell her father about the baby.

 

He points out that she came with him to meet his parents, and how could her dad possibly be any worse?

 

She lets him before she really thinks about it.

 

(She doesn’t really think about it until they are at the prison gates).

 

She monitors the conversation with exceptional care, always cutting in whenever it seems like her father will say something incriminating.

 

(She has to watch for incriminating statements. Doesn’t that say it all?)

 

He allows her to be the one to tell Philip Schuyler. Alex bursts with pride whenever he tells anyone, but she makes sure to make it more subdued.

 

The fates seem to be smiling on her that day, because her father’s reaction reveals nothing. He asks when she’s due, she tells him, and they talk about their future plans for a few more innocent moments.

 

She asks Alex to go get them some coffee near the time the conversation seems to be winding down ( _tea_ , she amends off his look).

 

As soon as he’s gone, her father pounces.

 

She sits through a chorus of _Eliza, you did it_ s, and _I’m so proud of you_ , and even stomachs a few rounds of _do you have any idea how much money you can make from this_?

 

Honestly, she didn’t really even see it coming.

 

He was _gone_.

 

And it really did seem like her father had gotten it out of his system.

 

But, she supposes, maybe karma really did exist, or maybe God really hated or maybe it was some combination of the two, but the next sentence out of her father’s mouth is “Oh my god, Eliza, when I told you to get pregnant, when I told you to squeeze some more out of the boy, I never expected it so fast!”

 

And then she hears the sound of a cup dropping and liquid sloshing all over the linoleum floor.

 

And then her heartbeat pounding in her ears.

 

But what really cinches it, what really puts the final nail in the coffin, is the look on her husband’s face when she turns around.

 

 

_Though I’m impatient_

_I’ll wait with patience_

_I’d wait a lifetime_

_For the chance to be your dad_


	12. we're as close as we might ever be again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliza heard someone say once that there was one moment in a person’s life that they remembered, with perfect clarity, forever. Just one moment that played over and over. For long after the event was resolved, that moment stuck in their heads. 
> 
> And if Eliza ever had one of those, it would be this moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: My dudes, it’s been a ride. I can’t believe I finished another fic. Wow. Well, technically, there’s an epilogue left, but I don’t expect that to be long. Truly, this would not have happened without all the people who bookmarked, faved, and reviewed this story. Thank you so much! Thank you for helping me hold down the Hamliza fort as well. You are all gems.
> 
> I truly hope you enjoy the penultimate chapters of was it always there (but you never listened). Also, the title of this fic comes from the song How To Return Home, which I highly recommend listening to, it’s lovely. It became a very appropriate title, particularly with this chapter!

_**Home, I'm coming home I'm coming home** _   
_**'Cause this life that I've been living ain't my own** _   
_**Home, I'm coming home I'm coming home** _   
_**'Cause I'm tired being out here on my own** _

_**** _

__

_ Present Day _

 

Eliza heard someone say once that there was one moment in a person’s life that they remembered, with perfect clarity, forever. Just one moment that played over and over. For long after the event was resolved, that moment stuck in their heads.

 

And if Eliza ever had one of those, it would be this moment.

 

**(~~~~)**

 

Alex ignores the coffee coating the floor, his face ashen.

 

He’s heard everything, she knows.

 

Her heart beats a frantic tattoo in her chest but her feet seem rooted to the ground. The baby kicks frantically as well. Eliza wonders if it can feel its father’s pain.

 

 _He knows_.

 

Logically, she knew she couldn’t keep this a secret forever. But he was never supposed to find out like this.

 

And she has no fucking clue what to do.

 

Luckily, he doesn’t remain idle for long.

 

**(~~~~)**

 

He marches up to her father. She’s never been so grateful for the bulletproof glass separating them.

 

“You’re lying,” he hisses.

 

Philip Schuyler doesn’t even respond, stunned into silence.

 

Alex doesn’t seem to notice.

 

“You said she got pregnant on purpose. You _lied_. It’s a lie. Eliza loves me. We made this baby together. You’re lying, you’re lying!”

 

His voice rises in pitch, growing ever more desperate, until Eliza lays a soft hand on his arm and he swings around to face her.

 

She’s sure she doesn’t need to tell him. She’s sure it’s written all over her face.

 

“Tell me it’s a lie, Eliza. Tell me he’s crazy. Tell me my parents were wrong.”

 

She wants to. Oh god, she wants to. She wants to soothe his worries and take him home and tell him that it’s all a trick, that nothing is different, that she isn’t the worst kind of human for doing this to him.

 

But that would be polluting this with more lies.

 

There are enough lies between them to fill a lifetime.

 

So she stands there and watches his face fall, watches the anguish fill his eyes as it finally dawns on him.

 

“It was…it was a lie?”

 

“Alex…” she reaches out and lays a hand on his arm. He wrenches back as if he’s been burned. His eyes flit to hers, wide and desperate.

 

Alex has tears, actual tears, spilling down his cheeks.

 

He’s her husband. His pain is her pain. His pain is caused by her, all of it.

 

“I trusted you,” he whispers, and her heart shatters into a million pieces. “You told me…you told me this was real.”

 

“It is, Alex, just listen…”

 

“It was about the money? My parents were right?”

 

 _Tell him no_ , a part of her mind screams still. _Look at him. Look what you’ve done to him._

But she can’t, won’t lie to him.

 

So she answers with the single cruelest word in the English language.

 

“Yes.”

 

And she looks at his face, takes in the expression that will haunt her for years to come.

 

He’s gone before she can say another word.

 

 

**(~~~~)**

 

 

He’s gone when she gets home.

 

Well, his things are still there, but he’s gone. She knows it when she sees his laptop, his favorite sweater (the one she so often stole), the little box of pictures, they’re all gone.

 

And his ring is on the table.

 

He’s gone.

 

It’s over.

 

Her father would be thrilled, her mind jeers cruelly. This turned out exactly how he wanted.

 

And before, it was exactly what she would have wanted too.

 

But that was a long time ago, and as Eliza has learned, time has a way of changing things.

 

Now she just wants Alex back.

 

She wants it to be like it was before.

 

She wants to have never hurt him.

 

She wants to never have seen that look in his eyes.

 

**(~~~~)**

 

 

She doesn’t know how to stay here without him.

 

She has nowhere to go.

 

(Later, Angelica will tell her that she called in hysterics and Church drove out to get her, picking her up in the same state she would spend the next week in.)

 

**(~~~~)**

 

When she’s finally forced back to school, she resumes playgroup, hoping to distract herself.

 

Laf, Herc and Laurens come, because it’s not about her, it’s about the kids.

 

She wishes it were the same. It’s not. She plays halfheartedly for a little while before flopping against a tree next to Alex’s favorite little girl.

 

She expects nothing, really. Nobody else is talking to her.

 

The little girl’s eyes fix on her, and Eliza can’t even meet the eyes of a child.

 

They sit there in silence for long moments.

 

(Just like Alex and the little girl used to.)

 

Until finally, the girl shifts a bit closer and lays her head in Eliza’s lap.

 

She sucks in a breath at the sudden contact. It’s a connection, a real human connection, something she hasn’t felt in weeks.

 

Slowly, her fingers move to the child’s hair and pass through the dirty blonde strands, combing gently.

 

Tears fall on the child’s head, but she doesn’t react.

 

 

**(~~~~)**

 

 

Laurens isn’t speaking to her.

 

Laf and Herc won’t let her see him, won’t tell her where he is.

 

And she’s pregnant, so she can’t even drink her sorrows away, but god, does she want to. Anything to not see that face in her mind, to see that expression when he found out the truth.

 

Her thoughts are interrupted by a fluttering in her belly, something that nearly makes her smile.

 

She rubs one hand over her protruding belly.

 

“I really messed up, kiddo. You should really be angry with me too.”

 

 

**(~~~~)**

 

 

She goes to a bar anyway. She’s gonna screw this kid up, why not start now? Plus, one drink couldn’t hurt. She remembers Alex saying, what felt like years ago, that he’d read a drink every now and then was fine.

 

She sits for seven minutes before the bartender, before deep in conversation, finally makes his way to her.

 

She’s put on a loose dress with a coat, ensuring one could see her belly. She leans forward, orders a cocktail, and is shocked when the bartender refuses.

 

“Sorry, hon. Don’t serve to pregnant girls.”

 

(Can everyone tell now?)

 

So she drowns her sorrows in Coca Cola, but predictably, all that does is make her have to pee, and it does nothing for getting Alex’s face out of her mind.

 

That moment just plays in her head over and over, and Eliza gets sadder and sadder, until she’s (completely soberly) weeping on a bar stool, pouring out her woes to the girl in the short dress next to her, who looks like she doesn’t know how or when she got trapped into this conversation.

 

It’s god knows how long before the bartender announces someone called a cab for her and she takes it without fighting to her empty house at 10pm, completely alone.

 

And in that bed, her mind drifts.

 

She should be grateful it chooses to focus on good memories, but somehow it makes it more painful.

 

Her mind mulls over the last few months. For minutes, maybe. Maybe it’s hours, she can’t be sure.

 

But however long it is, it reaches one conclusion.

 

**(~~~~)**

 

 

 

She has to find him.

 

She has to make this okay.

 

They were going to be a family. She owes it to him, she owes it to her child.

 

And they _were_ happy, if only for a brief few months, they were happy. The tiny part of Eliza that still possess some naiveté thinks _maybe they could be again_.

 

Maybe she was meant to be different from her father after all.

 

**(~~~~)**

 

 

 

He’s gone.

 

Laf and Herc look like they’re telling the truth, but she makes them show her their apartment as confirmation that Alex isn’t there.

 

He’s gone, and nobody knows where he is.

 

But Eliza knows Alex. They are too similar in a lot of ways, so she knows if she was trying to escape, she’d go to the last place anyone would look for her.

 

 

**(~~~~)**

 

 

The woods are quiet as she ambles along, hoping she remembers enough to find her way back.

 

Her heart thuds when she sees his hunched figure by the river. His head rests on his arms, his shoulders slumped.

 

He looks defeated.

 

She did that.

 

She’ll fix this. She has to.

 

The baby gives a hard kick, as if announcing its opinion.

 

She smooths a hand over her belly.

 

“I know, kiddo,” she whispers. “Let’s go talk to your daddy.”

 

 

**(~~~~)**

 

 

She knows he senses her there by the way his posture tenses. He doesn’t look up, but he knows she’s there.

 

“How did you know to find me here?”

 

She shrugs. “I guess I knew that some part of you never really left here, Alex.”

 

He says nothing, so she counts it as clear to move next to him and take a seat.

 

“Alex – “

 

“I don’t want you here.”

 

She nods. “I know.”

 

“I don’t want to see you.”

 

“I know that, too.”

 

He pauses. “So why are you here?”

 

She shrugs helplessly. “Because…I needed to see you, even if you didn’t want to see me.”

 

He scoffs. “Don’t go pretending you care now, Schuyler.”

 

She seizes his hand. He allows her to for less than ten seconds before he yanks away.

 

“I _do_ care, Alex. I know how it must look, but I do care.”

 

He looks at her incredulously.

 

“People who care don’t do what you did. They don’t lie. They don’t manipulate people for _money_.”

 

“But it wasn’t even about the money – “

 

“Yes it was! From the beginning, it was all about the money. I was just an idiot to think there was every anything more.”

 

Eliza feels tears fill her eyes. “It _was_ more, Alex. I swear. It was _everything_. And I know, I screwed up, but maybe…”

 

She lets the implication settle while her hand skims over his hand, not holding, just suggesting.

 

He’s silent, and maybe that’s a good thing, she thinks.

 

“Was it worth it, to you? All the shit we had to go through, and where we are now? Was it worth it?”

 

She nods vigorously. “Yes, Alex. It was worth every second.”

 

He pauses, seems to gather his strength.

 

“It wasn’t worth it to me, Eliza. All of that…all of _this_ , us together, it wasn’t worth it for me.”

 

The words hurt more than anything anyone has ever said to her, and tears spill down her cheeks as her heart starts and shatters in her chest.

 

The tears blur her vision, so she doesn’t see him getting up.

 

 

**(~~~~)**

 

  
She swears she didn’t see it.

 

(he never did either)

  
She would have warned him, she would have jumped on top of him.

  
If she’d known, she would have _done something_.

 

But the branch swings around, and he never sees it coming, and he’s in the water before she can blink.

 

She screams.

 

(he screamed).

 

(he can’t hear her).

 

She calls for help.

 

(too late for one).

 

(this isn’t happening).

 

(this can’t be happening).

 

People cut through the forest like actual angels.

 

One of them picks him up out of the water.

 

He’s not breathing.

 

Someone is screaming.

 

(she’ll later learn it was her).

 

‘ **(~~~~)**

 

 

 

_ Five Days Ago _

 

Another day, another bar, another bartender refusing to serve her.

 

Eliza is not sure how they all seem to sense her pregnancy. She’s not that far along yet, and her belly is easily covered with loose clothing.

 

But without fail, every bartender ambles distractedly up to her after long minutes in conversation with someone else, and refuses to serve her.

 

It’s getting quite annoying. She knows that she can’t (read: shouldn’t be) drinking, but on principle, getting turned down irks at her.

 

So today, in this bar where she is clearly not getting a drink, she slides off the stool and ambles around to the other side of the bar.

 

She probably would never have noticed him, but for the flash of dark curls that tries to get away as soon as their owner spots her.

 

“Jefferson?” she says.

 

The man in question wears an incredibly guilty expression, so different from his normal haughty one.

 

“Eliza, my dear.”

 

“What are you doing here?”

 

“I had heard rumors that these bar things carried alcohol. Had to figure out if it was all conjecture.”

She scoffs.

 

“Pleasant as always.”

 

He smirks, a bit of the old cocky Jefferson shining through.

 

“Only for you, gorgeous.”

 

“Oh, gross. Piss off, Jefferson. Some of us are trying to drown our sorrows.”

 

“Thought they didn’t allow pregnant girls to do that.”

 

“They don’t. I’m a rule breaker. Or I would be, if they would serve me.”

 

Jefferson shakes his head. “Take it from experience, Eliza. Drinking people away doesn’t work. All it gets you is a headache and a still-broken heart.”

 

“That’s awfully profound of you.”

 

His cheeks flush. “You shouldn’t be here, Eliza. You should be trying to find him.”

 

She doesn’t even question how he knows.

 

“He’s gone.”

 

“Then go after him.”

 

She shakes her head. “I can’t. You don’t know what I did.”

 

He’s silent for a moment. “He’s shared things with you he’s never told anyone, Eliza. He lit up around you. Don’t be an idiot and throw that away.”

 

And then he’s walking away, and it only occurs to her then.  She reaches out and seizes his arm in the nick of time.

 

“Jefferson,” she hisses. “You knew. You knew about James.”

 

He gives a wry chuckle. “Like I said, Eliza, we grew up together. I was at the funeral.”

 

The pieces are slowly coming together in her mind, and she’s never seen Jefferson look so embarrassed.

 

“You’ve been enemies for years. You’ve given dozens of interviews slandering Alex.”

 

“I’m an asshole, Eliza. Please tell me you knew that.”

 

It’s a joking tone. Deflecting, The way Alex does.

 

“Madison doesn’t know, does he?”

 

Jefferson shakes his head, cheeks flaming.

 

“All those years…”

 

“Don’t.”

 

“ _All those years_ of being his enemy, Thomas, and you never….”

 

Jefferson looks he’d rather be anywhere else.

 

“You never told anyone. You could have blasted him into the media spotlight. You knew exactly where to hit. You knew his biggest secret, and yet…you never said anything.”

 

A shake of the head is all the answer she gets.

 

“ _Why?_ ”

 

He pauses for a long time. “It’s not my tragedy to tell, Eliza.”

 

“And those bars…. someone made sure I didn’t drink and got me home. That was you, wasn’t it?”

 

He ducks his head, cheeks flaming. “Just thought you might need some help.”

 

She stares at him. “ _Why_? You hate Alex.”

 

“No, I don’t.” It’s more of an admission than she’s ever seen him make. “I grew up with him. Some part of me, I guess, is used to being his friend. And he was…different with you. You were different. I just didn’t want to see you throw that away.”

 

 

_ Present Day _

 

She finds the steady beeps comforting. They’re a sign, she guesses. A sign that his heart is still beating. He’s still with her.

 

He wakes after a few hours.

 

She cries.

 

She shoos everyone out of the room before they have a chance to protest, then shuts the door.

 

Alex struggles, trying to get away.

 

She plucks at the IV with one hand.

 

“It’s too late, you’re trapped.”

 

He glares at her, but she forces herself not to notice.

 

“And, you know, there’s a kind of advantage to you being here, because it means you’re forced to listen to me. Took the liberty of holding this hostage.”

 

Eliza unfurls her palm to reveal the nurse call button. Alex’s expression darkens.

 

“I said I didn’t want to talk to you. As it turns out, Schuyler, near death experiences don’t change that.”

 

The last name hurts. She deserves it, but it hurts.

 

Slowly, she draws something out of her pocket, keeping it in her closed fist.

 

Approaching the bed, she winds their fingers together, letting the objects fall in-between their palms.

 

“I’m asking for five minutes, Alex. Just five minutes, and then I’ll disappear forever.”

 

He looks at her incredulously. “No, you won’t. However this happened, you’re still carrying my baby. I’m not going to run out on my kid, Schuyler.”

 

Her stomach twists. Of course he wouldn’t. Of course he’d stand by his kid even if he hated her.

 

She rubs her thumb over his hand, slightly encouraged when he doesn’t pull away.

 

“Four minutes, twenty-six seconds left.”

 

His voice carries a hard edge.

 

So she says it. She finally says it, after holding it inside for too long.

 

She cups his face in her hands, looking directly at him.

 

“I love you.”

 

She doesn’t know how else to say it. Alex doesn’t react, so she tries again.

 

“Alex, I love you. Like, I want to spend the rest of my life editing your stupid letters to President Adams, forcing myself to watch The 100 with you, come home to find my kitchen scorched because you tried to make me dinner, raise children with you, love you.”

 

He still doesn’t react.

 

“ _Alex_ ,” she breathes, not letting his face go, stroking his cheeks. “I’m sorry. I am so, so sorry. I’ll be sorry for the rest of my life. But I swear, and you have to believe me…. this started as a lie, but it became…something else.”

 

He swallows hard. “It hurt, Eliza. Do you know how long it’s been since I trusted someone like I trusted you?”

The knife in her heart twists a little deeper.

 

“I know. I know, you trusted me and I betrayed that. I kept things from you. But that doesn’t mean…. just because it started one way, it doesn’t mean it has to end like that.”

 

She releases his face and unfurls both their hands, so that he can see the rings lying in her palm.

 

“You told me once that you were glad I was your wife. You gave me these. That moment, Alex, it was real. All the moments between us, they were real. I was just lying to myself when I thought it wasn’t. It was real from that moment in the bar, when Laurens blackmailed you into talking to me. It’ll be real for the rest of our lives. This baby, it’s…it’s just proof of that.”

 

Tears blur her vision and she hears sobs, but she doesn’t know who they come from.

 

“ _Please_ ,” she breathes. “Please, say we can try again.”

 

He’s silent, but the sobs are definitely his. She lays a hand on his chest and feels his breathing, his heart beating.

 

“It’s going to be hard,” he says finally. “We’re both stubborn as hell, Eliza. Maybe we’d only hurt each other.”

 

She shakes her head. “No. We hurt each other, but we fix each other too.”

 

Alex smiles. He touches his forehead to hers, and Eliza’s heart starts beating for the first time in weeks.

 

And then with shaking fingers, he picks up her ring and gently slides it onto her finger.

 

_**There’s a moment you've been waiting all your life for,** _   
_**When you find the very reason you're alive for,** _   
_**And it happens when you seem to least expect it,** _   
_**All at once you come alive and feel connected** _


	13. on my way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we say goodbye.

**_It’s gonna hurt bad_ **

**_Before it gets better_ **

 

 

Their son was born in the summer, at an ungodly hour of the morning, after over a full day of screaming pain.

 

Eliza had sworn up and down that she would never again give birth to one of Alex’s “melon-headed spawn” and managed to break his pinkie finger.

 

(He ventured a groan of pain and a pitiful “it hurts” but off one look from Eliza and the nurses, decided it wise to shut up.)

 

The moment her son was placed in her arms, however, Eliza had forgotten about every single moment of pain she had to endure to get here.

 

He was perfect, beautiful and pink and soft.

 

He was handed to Alex, who alternated arms to hold him in amongst frantically swiping at the tears on his cheeks.

 

She files the moment away in her memory forever.

 

**(~~)**

 

 

They had been debating since they reconciled at what to call the child. Alex had quickly found out that thanks to an extra dose of hormones, Eliza was quite easy to annoy, and despite her repeated warnings that men should really not anger their pregnant wives, he took great joy in thinking up the most ridiculous names to call the baby.

 

Which is how the baby becomes Cletus for the last four months of Eliza’s pregnancy.

 

Eliza really wasn’t sure what she hated more, the hideous name or the fact that it caught on with just about everyone.

Herc and Laf would smother her with affection she hadn’t known them capable of whenever she saw them, cooing to her belly, promising to buy Cletus beer as soon as they turned fifteen ( _sixteen_ , Laf had amended off her look. _Okay, sixteen. Seventeen? Ballpark me a number that won’t end in the headline reading_ Pregnant Woman Slays Handsome Innocent _here, Eliza)._

 

She receives monogramed bibs and onesies with elegant type reading “Cletus Hamilton” on them. She doesn’t even ask who they came from. The boys will waft their beers under her nose and smother giggles when getting out of her chair gets difficult. Eliza warns them as well that their murder would likely fall under justifiable homicide and juries love pregnant women.

 

But then there are other moments, moments where Eliza will find herself bemoaning how small this baby’s family will be (“Father, mother, a grandfather that will be in jail all it’s life and two aunts”), where they look at her with such gentle affection and tell her that she better add three uncles to that list and if she thinks this kid is growing up without them, she’s crazy.

 

(She cries and blames it on hormones.)

 

And Alex…Alex is so completely devoted to their yet unnamed baby of unknown gender. She catches him setting up the crib, a task he repeatedly refuses help with, forehead slick with sweat, repeating the same words over and over. She leans into the doorframe, tucking herself out of sight, to listen in.

 

“I’m not gonna be like my parents. I’m gonna be better. I’ll make it right for them.”

 

(Another flood of tears, and he catches her. She brushes the sweaty hair out of his face and he swipes at the tears coating her cheeks, cheeks flaming.)

 

**(~~)**

 

 

Two days after their son’s birth and a touch of jaundice keeping them in the hospital later, they are still calling him “the baby.”

 

They lie in Eliza’ hospital bed, their tiny son between them.

 

( _A boy,_ Eliza remembers Alex saying as he saw the child for the first time. _My son._ )

  
Alex gently brushed her hair back from her face and smiled softly at the swaddled baby in her arms.

 

“What’s his name, my charmer?”

 

She knows. She’s known for a long time. It’s never felt like right time to tell him, but in this moment, she thinks nothing could feel wrong.

 

She takes a hand off their swaddled son and laces it with his.

 

“James. James Alexander.”

 

(He cries this time. She does too. They cry together.)

 

 

  **(~~)**

 

 

Herc, Laf and Laurens visit, and Eliza’s entire being lights up when Laurens grabs her hand with a soft smile.

 

“John,” she breathes. He lifts a hand and strokes her cheek affectionately.

 

“You did good, Eliza. I’m happy for you.”

 

It’s that he means it that makes a wave of tears start anew.

  
(They’re awfully frequent recently. To be fair, in the last 24 hours Eliza has also burst into tears upon learning there was no more chocolate pudding.)

 

**(~~)**

 

 

James Alexander Hamilton is their miracle, their proudest achievement.

 

And Eliza never believed much in fate, in two people being destined, but maybe they are. Maybe right from _my dad spent all my money, I’m broke and I’m about to be kicked out, but if I got married, I would be eligible for bursaries and get to move into married housing_ it was always supposed to be like this.

 

 

It’s not perfect, it’ll never be perfect, but that’s okay, because it’s _them_. They’ll hurt each other, but they’ll fix each each other too.

 

And maybe Alex was right (though it pains her to admit it to this day). These things don’t just happen for no reason.

 

So Eliza sits on her bed, holding her family, settling into her forever.

 

****

**_Slumber my darling_ **

**_I’ll wrap you up warm_ **

**_Pray that the angels_ **

**_Will shield you from harm_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FLUFFITY FLUFF FLUFF. THE FLUFF. THE FLUFF FOR HAMLIZA THE FLUFF CHOSEN TO FIX HAMLIZA HAMLIZA’S FLUFF.
> 
> Also, I am aware that James was not their first child but it kinda fit better with the story. 
> 
> Thank you all so, SO much for reading, and all of your sweet comments. You’ve made writing this story a pleasure. 
> 
> See you next time!


End file.
